


Sex Arcade: Finale

by gregdonovan



Series: Greg Donovan at the Sex Arcade [5]
Category: DCU, Mass Effect
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Maledom/Femsub, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6626782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregdonovan/pseuds/gregdonovan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fanfic based on the Sex Arcade pictures drawn by sabudenego.  This story features non-consensual sex and violence towards women. If these topics bother you then you should avoid this story.</p><p>Greg Donovan meets his fate as the Sex Arcade comes crashing down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rules Were Meant To Be Broken

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about an evil person, and an evil organization, doing evil things to innocent people. The main character in this story, Greg Donovan, is by any reasonable viewpoint a psychopath.
> 
> Proceed at your own risk. 
> 
> Nota Bene:  
> This is obviously non-canon since Sabudenego has no intention of stopping his Sex Arcade drawings anytime soon. 
> 
> The Sex Arcade is a place where the bad guys have won. There are no last-minute rescues, sudden desperate plans succeeding seconds before the doomsday weapon explodes, or any other resounding victories against overwhelming odds. The Subjects are brought there, and kept there, by the use of force. They suffer horrifying torture and abuse. There futures' are grim, their only hope that their captors will keep the agreement to release them after ten years. 
> 
> Until now. 
> 
> This is my idea of how the Sex Arcade could be brought down.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

From: opsmanager@sex.arcade.net  
To: ALL  
  
Subject: Losses and reconfiguration  
  
I would like to bring everyone up-to-date with what has been happening lately before going into the plans for re-structuring the facility.    
We have lost one entire LDE team and lost three of four members of another team during an acquisition operation.   We have lost a psychic on a second operation and had a psychic here at the facility die from an unknown illness.  Added up, that is three psychics and seven LDE team members lost in a single month.  This is, by far, the most expensive month in this company's history.    
  
In response to this month's events we are implementing the following changes immediately:  
  
    1. Complete halt to all acquisition operations  
  
        - it will take years before we fully replace losses among the LDE members  
        - it might take as long as a decade to replace the lost psychics  
        - we cannot risk more losses without seriously weakening our ability to control our current Subject workforce  
  
    2. Stop-Loss for all Subjects  
  
        - all Subjects will remain at the facility until further notice  
            - there will be no exemptions, no matter how little time the Subject has left till their scheduled release  
        - all Subjects are to fulfill their normal work schedule   
            - this applies to all Subjects even if they are past their normal ten year release date  
        - get them in their booths, strap them down and keep them earning  
  
The following plans will be fulfilled in the near-future:  
  
    1.  We will segregate the subjects according to the abilities they possess and the dangers they pose to staff members and clients  
    2.  Two new facilities are under construction now as part of a previously planned expansion and are almost complete  
        - these plans predate the current situation  
        - one is located in Eastern Europe and the other in the deserts of the South-Eastern United States  
    3.  The most dangerous Subjects will be housed in one facility and those deemed a lesser risk will be sent to the other facility  
    4.  All travel to these new facilities will take place through a central portal system located at our current place of business  
    5.  The new facilities are constructed so no outside view is available  
        - this insures the clients will be unable to identify the locations of our facilities after stepping through a portal  
    6.  The majority of the remaining psychics will stay at the facility housing the dangerous Subjects  
    7.  The facility with the less dangerous Subjects will be able to operate with just two psychics on-site  
  
I ask that all employees continue to perform their duties to their utmost ability and to wait for their department heads to give them instructions on how to proceed.  I will be holding a meeting shortly with all department heads and their staff to discuss what needs to be done to fulfill our current plans.  Attendance for this meeting is mandatory.    
_________________________________________________________  
  
Greg Donovan turned the object in his hand, carefully considering it.  Donovan was in one of the Sex Arcade's booths waiting for his 'date' to arrive.  "And what's it called again?"  
  
"We call it a Muzzle Device, High-Security, Open Mouth, Metal," answered Mindi, one of the Sex Arcade's hostesses.    
  
"It's a ring-gag, but with two rings instead of one and some kind of, I don't know, metal legs sticking out," Donovan replied.    
  
"It's a double ring-gag.  But management likes giving every damn thing around here a fancy name and acronym.  We used to use the regular ring-gags but those were too easy for the Subjects to flip down in their mouths.  Then we tried the spider-gags, which is where those legs come from.  Those don't work any better.  Now we use the double ring-gags.  These work wonderfully."  She grinned.  "The Subjects can't close their mouths with one of the doubles strapped in, no matter how hard they try. And believe me, the new girls try very, very hard."    
  
"Anything that saves me from getting my cock bit is all-right in my book."  
  
The two were interrupted by the sound of a frenzied struggle.  Three of the broad, muscular women who provided security inside the Sex Arcade facility were carrying a fourth woman into the booth.   The fourth woman had white skin, blonde hair and large breasts.  She wore fishnet stockings, already ripped in places, and high-heel boots.  Her torso was covered by a latex leotard, tight and shiny, hugging her breasts and buttocks.  She had a leather jacket covering her shoulders.  Her hands and ankles were shackled together and then secured behind her back with a short chain, forcing the captive into a strict hog-tie position.  A large ball-gag muffled the curses and protests the captive was hurling at her captors.  A thick metal collar was padlocked around her neck.  
  
The three security guards dragged the woman to a broad, padded, column in the middle of the room.  Mindi helped as they released the captives legs, then re-shackled her kneeling on the ground with her back to the column.  Her hands were then re-shackled with a longer chain connecting the woman's hands behind the column.  When they were finished, the captive was left kneeling in the middle of the booth, appearing as if she were trying to reach behind her to hug the column pressed against her back.    
  
"Hello, Black Canary.  Allow me to welcome you to your first day at your new job," Mindy spoke as if she were reading from a prepared script.  "We have a client waiting so we need to replace that gag in your mouth with something different.  You're not going to be difficult are you?"  
  
Black Canary responded with a loud scream, that continued for a surprisingly long time.  The scream trailed off into a whisper.  Canary's face was red from the effort and she panted for breath while looking wildly around the room.    
  
"It looks like she expected something to happen there," Donovan said.  "I think we got a real spitfire on our hands."  He smiled.  "This is going to be fun."  
  
"Yeah, she's a nasty cunt for sure.  All the new girls are like that their first day.  Most of them, anyways," Mindy replied.  
  
"Jesus, Mindy.  Put the claws away, why don't you.  I think you can cut the poor girl some slack for having a bad attitude."  
  
"Oh, please."  Mindy rolled her eyes.  "I meant she's classified Non-Compliant.  You know, NC.  We call them nasty cunts because they're a pain in the ass" Mindy looked at the security guards.  "We're gonna need some help here girls."  
  
As Mindy removed the current ball-gag from Canary's mouth, two of the guards pulled on pairs of black gloves, made from thick leather.  One guard grabbed Canary's face with her  hand, pinching Canary's nose shut and covering her eyes.  She grabbed Canary's chin in a brutal grip with the other hand and began levering her mouth open.  Canary cursed as she tried to fight against the violation.  
  
The second guard wedged her fingers inside the captive's straining mouth, one hand on the lower jaw and one on the upper.  She added her strength to the effort, grunting and cursing from the strain.  The guards yanked until Black Canary's mouth was stretched as far open as it could go, with Canary giving a high-pitched scream from the pain.    
  
Mindy grabbed the double ring-gag Donovan was holding and shoved it in the captive's helpless mouth.  The rings were pushed as far back as they could go and then the guards shoved Canary's head forward so Mindy could tightly buckle the gag behind her head.  The guards left after the gag was secured.    
  
"There we go sweety. Strapped in nice and tight.  That's a very good look for you, you know.  All helpless and inviting with that mouth of yours."  Mindy ran her nails lightly down Canary's cheek.   "It doesn't have to be this difficult next time. But that depends on how you want it to go."  Mindy turned and looked at Donovan.  "Hope you don't mind if your date drools on herself a little, Mr. Donovan."    
  
"Honestly? I like it when they're drooling Mindy.  Means they're dressed up properly."  Donovan began pulling his clothes off.  "All dressed up and ready to have some fun - whether they want to or not."    
  
"The way I see it, there are three ways this can go Canary."  Donovan tossed his belt in the corner.  "First, you can keep fighting like you were just now.  A lot of the new girls do that and, personally, that's the way I like my girls to act.  So do a lot of the other clients and many of them are willing to pay extra for it."  He unbuckled his pants and pulled them off.  
  
"Second, you can realize that fighting gets you nowhere and you can start to cooperate.  All of the girls get to that point . . . eventually.  Frankly, you'd be doing yourself a favor by realizing that right now and saving yourself some extra pain and misery."  He pulled his shirt up and over his shoulders then tossed it aside. He grinned at her. "I hope you'll stay the way you are for a long time to come."    
  
"And third, you can try some type of passive-aggressive, Ghandi bullshit and fight by doing nothing.  Just going limp and not eating or some kind of hippy nonsense like that.  Well, we got clients who prefer that too.  Not many, but more than you'd think.  And they're willing to pay substantially more than the other clients.  I guess we shouldn't think too closely about what they fantasize about when they're fucking a limp, lifeless person."  Donovan, now fully nude, stepped forward and stopped with his groin  centered in front of Black Canary's face.  
  
"Oh, just thought of something else.  You could also try some kind of feminist, rape-resistance bullshit and vomit on me or piss and shit yourself."  Donovan pushed Canary's head back against the column behind her.  His forefinger and middle finger pressed slightly against her closed eyelids.  "If you try that, I swear to God, I will do things to you that are only discussed at war-crime tribunals.  It will be fucking Biblical, like something from a fucked-up horror movie."  He grabbed her throat suddenly just above her collar and began to squeeze while he moved his mouth inched from Canary's ear.  "It will be straight up torture porn in this fucking room.  I promise you that."  He gave a final squeeze and push with his hands and fingers, then released her.    
  
Donovan reached down and stroked his semi-erect member to full length.  He grabbed Canary's hair as she tried to turn her face away and yanked it back till her mouth was in line with his cock.  He rested his cock just inside her mouth for a moment, while tightly holding her head with both hands.  Donovan began slowly thrusting himself into her mouth, stopping when she began to gag, then slowly pulling himself back out.  There was a clacking sound as Canary ground her teeth against the rings in her mouth, trying to bite down.  "I guess the point to my little speech is this: While you're here, no matter what you do, you're gonna get fucked."  He chuckled.  "Pretty much every job I've had was like that, so I can sympathize Canary.  Although the fucking wasn't quite so literal."  
  
Canary screamed again, the sound being muffled by the cock in her mouth.  It was a desperate, soul-searing cry, with Canary giving it everything she had.    
"Jesus, that felt awesome.  Those vibrations are incredible, Canary.  Keep doing that."    
_________________________________________________________  
  
The three hostesses chatted among themselves as they led the three captives toward their home for the weekend.  
  
"The client wanted all three of them for the weekend?  That's gonna cost a boatload of money."    
  
"Slightly over $100,000 is what I heard.  Some rich computer nerd wanted a Mass Effect theme.  Could you imagine blowing that much on something like this?"  
  
"All of the VIP rooms are full this morning."  As the hostess spoke a hulking figure wearing bulky, white colored power-armor passed by the group. The armor looked both intimidating and futuristic, with a metallic chest-plate, shoulder flanges, greaves and other armor pieces covering every inch of the figure's body.  The armor ended with a helmet with a shiny face-plate perched on top.  The figure ignored the hostesses and captives as it continued its patrol of the building.  A strange hum followed the figure down the hall, with static electricity raising hairs as it walked by.  
  
"What the bloody hell was that?"  
  
"That's one of the LDE team members.  They have a whole squad patrolling the VIP suites because so many Subjects are there at one time."    
  
"Why would that matter?  I've never seen them patrol inside the facility like this."  
  
"Because the walls outside the VIP suites lead outdoors.  Guess management is concerned if a group got free they might be able to bust a hole open and escape."  
The three captives were led into the VIP suite by metal cables looped through the ring on their collars.  All three had been stripped nude, then had their hands shackled in front of them before leaving their cells.  They were forced to kneel down, all three in a row, then the cables were plugged into a plate in the floor in front of each individual captive.  The plates were magnetic, controllable with a remote.  The cables were too short for the captives to stand up, forcing them to stay kneeling.    
  
The hostesses removed the blindfolds.  "All three of you will do everything the client asks you to do this weekend."  The hostess looked at the captive kneeling in the middle.  "Including you Liara."  
  
"No! There's no way that's happening.  I made a deal with you sick bastards so Liara wouldn't have to do this -"  
  
"And we have received a considerable amount of money to alter the deal, Shepard.  Pray we do not alter it any further."  The other hostesses snorted and rolled their eyes.    
  
"It will only be for this weekend and then the regular service will resume."  The hostess smirked.  "At least until another horny rich guy comes along.  But if you wish to beg him not to touch Liara, feel free to do so.  The client will probably enjoy that."  The hostesses turned and walked out of the room.  
  
One hostess stopped at the doorway.  "And one other thing; if any of you require punishment after this weekend is over, it won't be just you suffering for it.  We believe in collective punishment at the Sex Arcade."  With that she turned and left the captives to huddle on the floor, alone.    
  
"I'm so sorry Liara.  I've done everything I can . . . I'd fight everyone of them myself, I'd die for you if I had to.  But it wouldn't change anything.  They're just too strong, we're in too bad a position for me-" Shepard gripped the cable locking her to the floor in a white-knuckled grip.  She bowed her head.  "I can't do anymore."  
  
"It's all right Shepard." Liara reached over and grabbed her lover's hands.  "We'll get through this.  Just like every other time."  
  
"I'll help if I can," Miranda Lawson said from her position kneeling to the couple's right.  Her voice sounded dull and listless.  "I'll ask him not to bother you Liara, when he gets here."  Miranda's face was pale, her cheeks sunken, with bags under her eyes.  Her hair was messy and her shoulder blades and collarbone were evident, poking out against her skin.  Her head was bowed and her shoulders were drooped, as if she were struggling to hold herself up against a heavy weight pressing down.    
Shepard's face and body looked much the same.  The years of rape and abuse were taking their toll on both of them.    Liara looked better, Shepard having agreed to improve her 'performance' with the clients in exchange for Liara avoiding the work altogether.  Even in Liara, her normally cheerful and innocent demeanor had been ground down by the horrors she had witnessed happening since being captured.    
  
"They showed me the . . . video they made with Liara," Miranda said.  "They said they'd bring my sister here and do the same thing with her if I didn't co-operate.  That and -" Miranda gave a small sob.  "That and so much more."  Miranda wiped at the tears that had started rolling down her face.  "I believed them.  You'd think I would be numb to their abuse by now.  But they always find a way to hurt if you don't cooperate.  Always."  
  
"It's all right Miranda.  They probably would have done that," Shepard replied.  "I don't know how they've managed to capture all three of us, or how we've been held here so long and no-one's come to rescue us.  But if they can do that . . ." Shepard met Miranda's eyes.  "They can do just about anything."   
   
All three looked up as a hostess entered the room followed by the man that would be their owner for the weekend.  Shepard yanked at her cable again but stayed quiet and carefully kept her face neutral.  The thought of Liara being hurt, or having to service clients, or worst of all, just disappearing one day with Shepard never learning what had happened to her, had given her nightmares many times since they'd been re-united.  It wasn't a risk she was willing to take, no matter how degrading, how _humiliating_ ,  the things she was forced to do to keep Liara safe.  But now the bastards had broken the deal she had made with them.  Broken it and laughed about it to her face.  Part of her burned with anger at the unfairness of it.  The other part wondered what the point was in even caring.  Shepard worried that, eventually, she would no longer have the strength to care about anything.    
  
The three captives looked on warily as the hostess gave the man a short tour of the VIP suite.  The VIP suites were where the Sex Arcade's wealthier clients reserved Subjects for sessions meant to last longer than several hours.  The suite the three captives were in now had several separate rooms, with a full bathroom with a Jacuzzi, a bedroom with king-sized four-poster bed, a living room with couches and chairs, and a small kitchen.  There were also several storage areas filled with sexy outfits and lingerie - in the captives sizes - and a massive array of sex toys, bondage equipment and other paraphernalia.  The Sex Arcade aimed to provide the highest level of service to those clients that were willing to spend the large sums of money required for their VIP suites.  And it showed.    
  
The hostess and the man ended the tour looking down on the trio of naked women chained to the floor.  The man had white skin, brown hair, brown eyes and wore casual jeans and t-shirt.  He was average height and slender but with a slightly pudgy belly and a softness to his body that spoke of a career sitting behind a desk all day.  His appearance overall was nondescript, with no particular feature standing out.    
  
"And here we have the main attraction for this suite."  The hostess and the man ended the tour standing in front of the restrained captives.  The hostess handed the man a small black device.  "This is the remote that controls the plate their collars are attached to."  She then handed him a small key-ring.  "And these are the keys for their shackles.  There is no key available for their collars.  Is there anything you'd like to ask at this moment?"  
  
The man, who had been leering down at the bound women since  he entered the room, was now looking back towards the door to the apartment and rubbing the back of his head.  
  
"Sir?  Do you have any questions?"  
  
"What?  Oh, sorry, I spaced out there for a second.  I just felt like I was forgetting something important.  It just popped into my head."  
  
"Well, if you have nothing to ask I will leave you alone with your property for this weekend.  If you have any issues please contact us through the intercom by the door.  Be warned, we do not monitor these suites while you are here.  If something were to happen in here this weekend we would not find out about it till the morning when housekeeping comes to clean the rooms."  
  
"Yeah I know, I was warned about that before. Repeatedly. But it's ok."  The man reached down and grabbed Shepard's chin.  He squeezed her lips together and forced her face up.  He looked her in the eyes.  "These three won't give me any trouble.  Will you Commander?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"You can call me Master this weekend."  He smiled.  
  
"No . . . Master."  
  
"Good girl."  He slapped Shepard's cheek, lightly, just hard enough to sting.    
  
"I will leave you to it then," the hostess said.  "Please, enjoy your weekend."  She turned and walked out the room.  
    
"Don't worry guys.  This is going to be a fun weekend.  Now if only I could remember what the hell it is I'm forgetting."  
  
"Please . . . Master.  I'm begging you, to not -" Shepard paused and drew a breath.  "Please, Miranda and I can give you the best weekend you've ever had. It'll be the kind of weekend you could only dream about.  I just ask that you not hurt Liara.  Master."  
  
"She's right, Master," Miranda said.  "We'll give you anything you want, we'll be the most enthusiastic slaves you can imagine.  Liara is not as . . . experienced as us two.  It wouldn't be nearly as fun with her."   
   
The man kept rubbing the back of his head as he gazed in the corner of a room.  "Oh, uh, yes.  I think that will be ok.  Or, I don't know.  I just wish I could remember what the hell I'm forgetting."  He turned and began to pace back and forth across the room.  He suddenly stopped and looked at the women.  "Look, Liara will be fine.  I won't touch her.  I promise."  He glanced away while concentrating.  "Goddamn this is bothering me."   
   
The three captives shared a momentary feeling of relief, then watched, warily, as the man continued pacing and rubbing his head.    
_________________________________________________________  
  
Delta sighed as she glanced at the clock for the third time this shift.  The damned thing had to be running slow!  Unfortunately for her, it showed only ten minutes had passed since her last impatient glance.  Delta was having a bad week.  Not only did she have three twelve-hour shifts of monitor duty this week, she also had range qualifications scheduled twice.  Which allowed her no time at all to visit any of the booths she normally visited during the week.   
   
Delta looked at the array of monitors in front of her.  Each screen showed a different video-stream from the high-definition cameras scattered inside and outside the Sex Arcade's newest facility.  The outside cameras gave the same boring view of several thousand acres of Nevada desert they always did, with nothing more exciting to see than the occasional jack-rabbit or tumbleweed.  The inside cameras only showed scenes of the corridors and hallways outside the booths where the Subjects were forced to work.  Each booth had cameras located inside, however, management had learned that the people on monitory duty only watched the feeds from the booths and nothing else.  New regulations had been passed, allowing nothing but occasional peeks inside the booths for anyone on monitor duty.   
   
Delta was two hours into her first twelve hour shift this week, monitoring the cameras for any signs of security breaches or violations of the company guidelines.  Delta wore the custom armor used for the acquisition of new Subjects for the facility.  She had her helmet off and sitting on a table next to her, alongside the hand-held communicator she used to keep in contact with her fellow team-members patrolling the VIP suites.    
  
She looked up, surprised, when the door to the monitor room entered.  Two women walked in.  The first woman was well-known to Delta; the psychic called Omega who had accompanied Delta in the past on acquisition missions.  The second woman was a stranger to her, but judging by the fact she was nude, shackled, blindfolded and being led by a leash attached to the collar around her throat, she could only be one of the Sex Arcade's unlucky Subjects.    
  
"Unless you're here to relieve me, you're not allowed in the monitor room."  
  
"Oh, it's not like we're about to be invaded by somebody.  Just relax!  I brought somebody I want you to meet."  
    
Delta and Omega were both members of the elite LDE teams used by the Sex Arcade to acquire new Subjects.  Both shared the same hulking, muscular physique that were the hallmark of the LDE teams.   Omega was wearing normal civilian attire of jeans and t-shirt, with a white towel slung over her shoulder, while Delta wore the power-armor that was required by the regulations for anyone on monitor duty.    
  
The LDE team-members' armor was a technological marvel, custom-made for Delta and every other member of the LDE teams.  The armor boosted Delta's already considerable strength, while an array of sensors in the helmet provided a day-like sight picture at any time and in any weather conditions.  The armor was made of a blend of ceramics, plastics and metals, providing a high degree of protection from anything impacting on Delta.  The suit was also equipped with more exotic technologies, with shields to stop any energy-based or kinetic projectiles and a stealth-field which would let Delta disappear or blend in with her background.  When fully stealthed, Delta was almost invisible to any visual, thermal, radar, ladar, or any other known sensor.  She also carried a vast array of non-lethal weaponry, including stun grenades and energy-based rifles and pistols, designed to incapacitate a target without killing them.    
  
Of course, the LDE teams often hunted prey that had senses and abilities that transcended what was thought possible by modern science.  Even with their armor suits they could easily find themselves outmatched.  That was where the psychics like Omega came in.  The exact method and place of recruitment for the psychics was unknown to anyone but the psychics themselves, and they never told.  But, whatever their origin, all of the psychics were extremely powerful, able to dominate the minds of beings powerful enough to be considered gods.  When put together, the LDE teams, with their armor, weaponry, training and psychics, could take down any target on any world they hunted on.   
   
The LDE teams always got their targets.    
  
Until recently.   
   
Omega led her captive behind Delta's chair and had her kneel down as Delta spun around to face her.    
  
"Is this a new friend of yours?  Because, you're treating her pretty rudely if she is."  
  
"This is our latest acquisition.  Her name is . . . well, her real name doesn't really matter.  I've taken to calling her Mora."  Omega stroked Mora's hair as she talked.  Mora herself was young, white, and very fit, with smooth skin and a tight body.  The hair Omega ran her large hands through was dark and brushed the tops of Mora's shoulders.    
  
"Are you renting her for today?  What's going on here Omega?  Why isn't she in a booth?"  Delta eye's roamed over Mora's body as she talked.  The way Mora's head bowed submissively, the way her hands were secured behind her, the way she nervously leaned against Omega's legs, as if she were trying to hide behind them, seemed like something from Delta's fantasies.  It was almost like Mora knew exactly what Delta liked.   
   
"She's for use only by the staff, not clients.  That's why she's not in a booth."  Omega reached down and removed the blindfold.  "Let my friend Delta see your face Mora.  It's ok."  Mora blinked and squinted at the light, then looked up.  Her eyes were brimming with tears and she almost flinched when Delta gently took her chin in her hand.  Delta turned her face left, then right, carefully considering the smooth, porcelain skin before her.  She lightly ran her thumb over Mora's lips.  "Hmmm.  Very nice."  Delta kept her gaze locked on Mora's face.  "Who is she?  She looks sort of familiar, but I can't remember where I've seen her."  
  
"I brought her back my last mission.  The one where . . . the one that went bad.  She was the target.  At least, my team thought she was the target."  
  
"Who was the target?"  
  
"Huntress.  And Mora here had the bad luck to be born with a face and body that looks remarkably similar to Huntress's.  And, furthermore, had the unbelievably bad luck to be in the general area at the time we were expecting Huntress to show up."  
  
"That's why she looks familiar!  She looks exactly like Huntress.  It's amazing that's not really Huntress in front of me. But you're a psychic.  How did you not know she wasn't the right person?"  
  
"We were under attack by someone.  I don't know who exactly, but a psychic from that world hit us just before I was going to start my scan.  I never figured out who it was, but it was a hell of a battle keeping them out of my head.  The rest of the team tranq'd Mora and we were almost to the gate when more psychics showed up."  Omega looked down.  "I couldn't protect my team.  They went down and I grabbed Mora and just barely made it out of their alive."  She smiled sadly down at Mora.  "When she woke up, Management was pissed to find out she wasn't the target."  
  
"There was another team lost on that mission.  What happened to them?"  
  
"No idea.  I saw them that morning heading out after their target and then they just disappeared.  I never even found out who they were after.  It's pretty safe to assume they're either dead or prisoners.  Somebody from that world found out what we were doing and came looking for us.  I'm lucky I made it out of there alive."  A brief flash of pain was apparent on Omega's face for a second before vanishing.  "Mora was out enjoying her day," Omega continued.  "She was on vacation from school, actually.  Then she shows up at the wrong place at the wrong time and next thing she knows she's waking up with us, in this place."  Omega laughed and looked at Delta.  "And you thought _you_ were having a bad week."    
  
"Management let me keep Mora for my own personal use since she got here, I guess to help me get over losing my team," Omega said.  "I've been giving her very thorough training.  And she is just adorable sometimes.  Here watch this -"  Omega looked down at Mora.  "Mora, how many women did you sleep with before you got here?"  
  
Mora looked afraid.  "None, Mistress Omega."  
  
"And how many have you slept with since you got here?"  
  
"Just you Mistress Omega."  
  
"That's right.  And have I convinced you about the superiority of the female gender over the male when it comes to sex?"  
  
Mora's cheeks reddened and she looked down at the floor.  "I . . . yes Mistress Omega.  I like sleeping with women."  Mora looked pained as tears flowed.  "Very much."  
  
Omega stroked her hair again.  "I don't have to be a psychic to know you're lying Mora.  What did I tell you about lying to me?"  
  
Mora looked up in sudden fear, her eyes wide with terror.  "Please, god, please, I'm sorry Mistress Omega.  No, I don't like sleeping with women."    
  
"You don't like having sex with me?  After all the hours and hours and _hours_ of practice I've given you.   That's the gratitude you show me?"  
  
Mora suddenly blurted out, realizing her error, "Except for you!  I like sleeping with you Mistress Omega.  Oh god, please, I'm sorry."   
  
"You're lying again Mora.  Are you going to have to spend more time in the Box? That seems the only way to teach you to appreciate what I've done for you since you came here."  
  
Mora broke down, wildly sobbing and crying.  "Please no, oh please, oh please, please don't put me back in there -"  She began kissing Omega's shoes.  "Beautiful Mistress Omega, wise Mistress Omega, strong Mistress Omega . . ."  
  
Omega glanced at Delta and quietly said, "Mora's claustrophobic."  The two watched a few moments as the terrified captive continued begging for mercy.  Omega grabbed Mora's hair and yanked her back up to a kneeling position.  "Hey, easy there.  It's ok.  You made a mistake but I'm willing to overlook it."  
  
"Oh god, thank you Mistress-"  
  
"But-" Omega placed her hand over Mora's mouth.  "You're going to have to do something for me."  She moved her hand so Mora could speak.   
   
"Please, oh please, don't put me back in the box, oh god, I can't go back in there -"  
  
Omega pinched Mora's lip shut with her large fingers.  "Mora, you have to calm down for me.  Just close your eyes and take a breath.  That's a good girl."    
  
Mora squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from her eyelids.  She took several shuddering breaths.    
  
"There we go.  This woman here is my friend Delta.  I'm going to leave you in here with her for a while.  Do everything you can to make her happy.  When I come back, if Delta says you did a good job, we can forget about your punishment.  Ok?"  
  
"Yes Mistress Omega, thank you so much -"  Omega palmed Mora's mouth again.  
  
"You are so cute when you're terrified.  But you don't know when to shut up.  That's something I'll have to work on."  
  
Omega turned and tossed the towel on her shoulder to Delta.  "That's for the chair."  She walked to the exit.  
  
"Hey!  I'm supposed to be monitoring the cameras.  And I'm supposed to be alone in here during my shift."  
  
Omega turned and looked at Delta.  _'What harm could there be?'_ Omega sent the thought directly into Delta's mind.   
    
The sudden mental message caught Delta by surprise.  The regulations were strict about who was allowed inside the monitor room during a guard shift.  But then . . . Delta looked down at the quivering, submissive beauty kneeling in front of her.    
  
Rules were meant to be broken.  



	2. Rest and Relaxation

Donovan grunted as he continued thrusting into Black Canary below him.  Canary had been chained to a padded bench, shackles holding her wrists fast, with her legs splayed open, knees bent, and strapped into metal stirrups.  A chain had been fastened to the collar around her neck and secured to an electric pulley on the floor.  A button on the bench, when pressed, would quickly snap the chain taut, choking Canary and yanking her head backwards.  A golden ball-gag had replaced the metal rings in her mouth.  
  
Donovan kept a smooth steady pace, breathing heavily as he talked, "You know - uh - I don't like that - huh - look you're giving me.  We expect a better attitude from our - oh yeah - Subjects here."  He met the hate-filled glare on Canary's face.  "I have a job specializing in attitude adjustment.  We'll probably be seeing each other again after this."  He grinned.  "I look forward -  Jesus - to it."    
  
Donovan suddenly increased his thrusting, his buttocks clenching, as he threw his head back.  He climaxed with a short yell, then dropped forward till his head fested on Canary's breasts.  He stayed there for a few moments till his heart-rate slowed and his breathing returned to normal.  He looked up, his face just inches from Black Canary's.  "Was it good for you?"  He laughed at the expletives hurled his way, then stood up and grabbed both of her breasts,  squeezing them vicously until her yelling turned to a squeal of pain.  He slapped her face, whipping her head back and forth, then walked to the corner where he had tossed his clothing earlier.  The red imprints from his hands were clearly visible on Canary's breasts.  "It seems my masculine charms were not enough to woo her, Mindy."  
  
"That's ok, Daddy.  She just needs more time to appreciate what you have to offer."  
  
"I'd stay and continue my courtship," Donovan said to Canary.  Mindy was already at work cleaning her body, getting Canary ready for the next client.  "But there are many more courtiers waiting to meet you.  It will be the task of the next several hundred young gentlemen to win your heart."  He finished buckling his belt then walked to the door.  "I hope you find your new job as rewarding as I do."  
  
Donovan laughed at the muffled yells and curses coming from the room as the door closed.  He looked at the man waiting outside.  "I warmed her up for ya, big chief."  He chuckled, then whistled a happy tune as he walked down the hallway.  He stopped at a small coffee shop and bought a latte, then sat down to read a Men's Health magazine he grabbed from a rack.  He had been forced to leave behind his phone and all other electronic devices before stepping through the portal that lead to the building he was in.  
  
He leafed through the magazine, slowly sipping his drink and thought about what he would do the rest of the day.  This was his first day of vacation from his normal body-guarding job and he had no specific plans for the rest of the afternoon.  He could visit another booth, but he'd probably need the rest of the day to 'recharge.'  The Sex Arcade offered various drinks that were supposed to increase a man's stamina, but he didn't trust them enough to use them.  There were booths that offered body massages and other services, so he decided to try one of those in a while, then head back to his room.    
  
He suddenly remembered the service he had seen earlier, that allowed a client to lightly torture a subject, with whips, paddles and clamps, as long as no permanent marks were left behind.  He knew from long experience, gained at the expense of a multitude of unwilling 'volunteers', that a great deal of pain could be inflicted without seriously injuring the female body.  He felt himself stirring in his pants as he remembered his past games.    
  
Maybe he didn't need time to recharge - he just needed the right stimuli.  
  
Donovan resolved to practice his hard-won talents for inflicting pain on whatever Subject was unlucky enough to be serving in the torture booth.  He set his latte down, lid off, and became engrossed in an article about the benefits of juicing.  It was several minutes later when he noticed . . . something.  Something in the room was off.  He couldn't pinpoint the cause of the feeling, but he felt a sudden trembling in his body, as if he had suddenly been seized by intense anxiety.      
He put his magazine down.  He glanced around the room and saw other men there noticed something as well.  Men were standing up and looking at the ceiling, the floor, and each other, trying to figure out what the odd feeling was.  Donovan saw a man place his palm against a wall, his eyes closed, sensing something through his hand.  Donovan looked down at his half-empty latte.  
  
"What the fuck is going on?"  
_________________________________________________________  
The three captives looked on as the man grew more and more agitated.  His pacing increased, and he began yanking at his hair.  "God, this is driving me crazy.  And my fucking head is killing me."  He began squeezing his head between his hands.  He suddenly threw himself down on a couch and leaned forward till his head was between his knees.  "I . . . I don't feel so . . . don't feel so great," he mumbled.  He sat up, the blood rushing to his head having turned his face red.  His face suddenly drained of color and his skin became shockingly pale, while his lips turned almost green.  He staggered up, then rushed towards a garbage can.    
"I think I'm gonna be -" he suddenly vomited on the floor, just a foot away from his goal.  He reached for the can, his hands fumbling, and tried to draw it to him.  The can was knocked to the floor, sliding away.  He vomited again, his stomach heaving, covering his shirt and pants.  "Oh my god, what is happen-" He heaved again, this time nothing but a thin  trickle sliding from his mouth to add to the reeking mess on his clothes.  He ran his trembling hands down his chest, trying to wipe the mess off.  "Jesus Christ.  Oh Jesus Christ, it feels like I'm dying -" He suddenly collapsed, falling to a jumbled heap on the floor.    
  
The three captives shared shocked glances.    
  
"What the hell just happened to him?" Miranda asked, her eyes wide.    
  
"Hey!  Are you all right?" Shepard yelled at the un-moving figure.  It was hard to tell if he was breathing or not.  Shepard raised her voice, yelling towards the ceiling, "Are you guys listening out there?  Are you watching?  This guy needs medical attention right now!"  She yanked at the cable fastening her to the floor in frustration.   
   
"Is he dead?" Liara asked, voice gone quiet with shock.  "Did he just have a stroke?  What could have done that to a human?"  
  
"I don't know Liara.  But if he dies, they'll blame us for it," Shepard said, again yanking at her cable.    
  
"How could they do that?  We didn't even touch him!" Liara said.    
  
"It doesn't matter if it's our fault, or what's happened to him.  They'll punish us to make an example.  To show all the other _Subjects_ what happens if they hurt a client." Shepard spat out the word Subjects as if she had bit into something foul.  "I know this is probably impossible, but try and get free.  We have to make sure he doesn't die.  
  
The three began yanking at their cables, straining to get free.  The cables had a metal plug at the end that fit neatly into an open spot on a metal plate on the floor.  The plug was then magnetically secured in place, with a magnet that could withstand hundreds of pounds of force.  Shepard shuffled around till her feet were on either side of the cable, her head almost level with her knees.  She flexed her legs, straining against the cable, her face becoming flushed from the effort.    
  
Shepard could feel the collar digging into the back of her neck and sweat trailing down her face.  She stopped with a gasp and stood there, hunched over, while gulping down air.  The cable hadn't budged an inch.  She knew what she was doing was probably pointless; even if she got to the man, whatever was happening to him was well advanced at this point.  And the sick bastards who kept her here would likely punish the three of them even if she did manage to help him, just to prove the same point that had been ground into them since the moment they got here: they had no control over their lives and were at the mercy of their kidnappers.    
  
But that same dogged determination and iron will that had pushed her through the grueling rigors of the N7 program wouldn't let her quit.  The same spirit that had forced her to keep moving, to keep trying, despite the sleep-deprivation, the lack of food, the sheer utter exhaustion the N7 program inflicted on its applicants, wouldn't let her quit now.  She had to try, had to do everything she could to help her friends, until she couldn't do anymore.    
  
Shepard started again, straining with her legs till the veins in her forehead stood out from the effort.  The cable still stubbornly refused to budge.  She gave up with a gasp, fell back on her butt with a thud, then leaned forward and took a deep breath.  "I just need a second to rest," she said panting with exhaustion.  She frantically thought of how to get free, but no options were available.  They had been stripped nude and shackled deliberately.  First, to keep them from feeling secure and instilling a sense of fear whenever they were around the client.  Second, to remove any possible hiding places or any possible tools that could be used to escape.    
  
"Maybe if all three of us work together on Liara's cable -"  
  
The trio suddenly heard a gasp from the man lying on the floor.  His head rose and he gave a  pained groan.  He looked down at his soiled clothes.  "Fucking hell, what a mess."  He rolled over on his stomach and shakily pushed himself off the floor, then stood up.  His legs shook as he took off his dirty t-shirt with trembling hands.  "Didn't know it would be this bad," he said, mumbling to himself.    
  
He went and up-righted the garbage can he had knocked over, then dropped his t-shirt inside.  Next, he went to the sink in the kitchen and spoke to the captives as he washed his hands, "Sorry about that.  Gave you guys a bit of a scare didn't I?"  His voice sounded a bit hoarse, but he was rapidly recovering from whatever ailment had befallen him.    
  
"What just happened to you?" Shepard asked confused.  "Uh, Master," she added hastily.  
  
"Just had a bit of nausea hit me.  Feel much better now, much better.  And don't worry, everything's going to be all right.  I promise," he said with a wink at Shepard.  "You don't have to bother with calling me Master anymore.  That was just a bit of a show for the hostesses."  
  
"What should we call you then?" asked Miranda.  
  
"How about my name . . . ," he paused thinking.  "John.  Yes, that's my name.  Just plain old John will work."  
  
"Ok . . . John," Miranda replied.  The three women looked at each other confused.  The panic from earlier had faded, but now they were still facing the earlier situation. They no longer would be punished for 'John' dying, but they also had no idea what he would force them to do over the weekend.    
  
John finished rinsing his hands, then dried them with a small hand-towel he found in a drawer.  "Well that's a bit better, but my pants are still a mess.  I think I'm going to get a quick shower."  He dug out the remote that controlled the magnetic plates in the floor.  He fiddled with the controls for a few seconds, then pushed a button.  The plates unlocked with a dull clanking sound and the metal plugs on the ends of the cables popped out.  "Why don't you three get dressed while I shower?"  John walked over and handed the key-ring, with the keys that unlocked the captives' shackles, to Shepard.  "Wear something comfortable.  And make sure you put some shoes on too."  
  
"All right . . . John," Shepard said.  The man's attitude had completely changed from earlier.    
  
"Don't worry, I'll only be a minute."  The lethargy and sickness from before had vanished and John practically bounced to the door to the bathroom.  He turned and smiled at Shepard.  "Everything's going to be ok.  I promise."  Then he closed the door.    
  
The women heard water running soon after.  The three quickly shed the cables fastened to their collars and then Shepard unlocked the shackles around their hands.  Miranda stood up and practically ran to the closet that had been stocked with the clothes they would be wearing this weekend.    
  
Shepard grabbed Liara's shoulder before she could run after Miranda and said, "Wait a second, babe, let me try something."  There was something about John's behavior that was affecting her. For the first time in a long time, Shepard felt a sense of optimism.  The way he looked when John had promised everything would be ok . . . She stopped herself from continuing that line of thought before it went too far.  This place had never offered any reason for hope before this and she had no expectation that had changed.    
  
Shepard tried all the keys on the ring on the padlock fastening Liara's collar.  None worked.  "Dammit.  I had to try.  I guess the collars stay on this weekend."  She stood up and took Liara's hand as they both ran to the closet to get clothing.    
  
Miranda was already pulling on a pair of black-colored tights.  "They're called yoga pants," Miranda said to the couple.  "One of the hostesses told me that another time I was in a VIP suite."    
  
"What's yoga?" Liara asked as she found a similar pair of yoga pants in her size.    
  
"Some kind of stretching exercise.  I once read about it in a history book.  It was popular on Earth until about a century ago."  Miranda checked herself in a mirror hanging on the closet door.  "They're comfortable to wear at least."  She found a t-shirt that matched the color of her leggings and put it on.  Then she found a pair of socks and running shoes that fit her.  She carried the socks and shoes to the couch and sat down to put them on.  
  
Shepard and Liara found matching clothes and shoes to wear then joined Miranda on the couch.  "The client must have requested this clothing specifically.  They wouldn't have put it in there otherwise," Miranda said.  Shepard and Miranda had both served VIP sessions where the clients had forced them to stay nude the entire time.  In other sessions, they had only been allowed to wear revealing costumes or lingerie, nothing like the clothing they had on now.  Wearing comfortable clothes and shoes was something the trio had not experienced often during their time in the Sex Arcade.    
  
Shepard noticed the sharp and sour smell of the vomit on the floor where John had collapsed.  "Let's clean that up."  She went to the sink then filled a bowl with soap and water, while Liara found a roll of paper towels and a pair of rubber gloves in a cabinet in the kitchen.  Shepard poured the water on the soiled areas of the rug, then Liara mopped it up with her gloved hands.  When they were done, the carpet was still stained but the foul acrid smell was gone.    
  
When John came out of the bathroom, his hair wet, with a towel wrapped around his waist, the three women were sitting on the couch.  Shepard and Miranda sat to either side of Liara, each one holding tightly to one of Liara's hands, fingers intertwined.  Both women leaned in slightly, unconsciously trying to shield Liara.     
   
"Well, I sure feel better.  How about you girls?  You guys are looking good!"  John went to the closet and pulled out a pair of pants and a shirt to wear.  "Why don't you three get something to drink.  No alcohol, please.  I'll have some orange juice, if you would be so kind."  He went back to the bathroom to dress.    
  
"John, wait," Shepard said.  "Your promise about Liara," Shepard felt Liara's grip on her hand grow tighter, "you're going to keep it aren't you?"   
   
"Yes, everything's going to be fine.  Now, how about those drinks?"  He disappeared back into the bathroom.    
  
"What happened to him?  His personality is completely different from before," Liara said.    
  
"I don't know," Shepard answered.  She squeezed Liara's hand back.  "Let's just get some drinks and then see how things go."    
  
Shepard thought about rushing the man.  The three of them together could easily take him down and hold him hostage or even kill him.  But then what?  They were locked inside the suite, and security would get to them before they could bash their way out of the room.  Even if they did break out and used the man as a hostage, the Sex Arcade wouldn't let them get away.  They'd be scared to lose a rich client but not scared enough to let three of their Subjects escape.  Shepard shuddered as she thought about the punishments they'd inflict on the three of them for causing the death of a client.  Especially on Liara.  
  
"Are you all right, my love?" Liara asked, sensing the sudden fear from Shepard.    
  
"Yes, I'm all right . . . as all right as you can get in this place.  Come on, lets get something to drink.  When's the last time you had real orange juice?"  
  
They were sitting back on the couch when John entered the living room again, his hair still wet but fully clothed this time.  "Thank you all for waiting.  Now, how about we all just sit back and relax for a little while, yes?  Does that sound nice to you ladies?"  He flashed a big smile to the three.    
  
"It does, John.  Thank you for letting us have these drinks," Miranda said, raising her glass. "Yours is sitting on the counter over there."  
  
"Yes, very nice."  John looked at the watch on his right wrist.  "Oh, wow, look at the time.  Took longer in the shower than I thought.  Better hurry up and finish your drinks.  We don't have much time left."  
  
"Time left till what?" Shepard asked.  "We have the whole weekend."  
  
John took a deep pull on his drink then sat it back down on the counter.  He checked his watch again.  He pointed at the half-full glass of orange juice.    
  
"Time left till that."  
_________________________________________________________  
Delta reached out and grabbed the ring on Mora's collar and pulled her face close.  "Why did Omega give you the name Mora?  I would have thought of something better."  
  
"It's my classification Mistress Delta," Delta said, her voice trembling.  "Mistress Omega said I'm a 'Morale and Welfare Asset.'  That's where Mora comes from."  She looked down at the floor, scared to meet Delta's eyes.  
  
Delta gave a sharp, bitter laugh.  "Omega's imagination was always terrible.  Figures she'd go for something so easy and simple.  It's too bad you're not my property, Mora.  At least you'd have a more imaginative name."    
  
"You could use . . . my real name Mistress Delta," Mora said quietly.  
  
"No, I don't think so.  Omega was right about that, at least; you're real name doesn't matter.  Not while you're in this place."  She sat back in her chair.  "Maybe I'll speak to Management about who gets to own you, Mora.  Can't let Omega have you all to herself.  Would you like that?" She put her hand under Mora's chin and forced her to look up from the floor.  
  
"I would Mistress Delta," Mora whispered back.  
  
"Really?  What would Omega say if I told her you wanted a different owner?  She's be very upset, I imagine."  
  
Mora's eyes went wide with terror for the second time since she'd arrived in the room.  "Please . . . I've done everything Mistress Omega has asked me to do . . . I'll do anything you _want_ me to do.  Just, _please_ , stop tormenting me like this."  
  
Delta stroked Mora's hair and chuckled.  "I guess we have been mean to you."  She kissed Mora gently on the lips.  "I'll go easy.  For now."  Delta spread her legs wide.  "Why don't you demonstrate what Omega's been teaching you."  
  
"Yes, Mistress Delta," Mora said as she began to lick and kiss the armor covering Delta's inner thigh.  She worked her way up, until her mouth was working on the armor covering Delta's groin.    
  
Delta smiled as she ran her fingers through Mora's hair.  "I guess Omega has taught you something useful.  Be a dear, and clean my boots while I slip into something more comfortable."  Delta stood up while Mora went to work licking the thick metal armor encasing Delta's feet.    
  
Fortunately for Delta, the armor the LDE teams wore came with a detachable area, called a 'hygienic maintenance access hatch' in the manuals, that meant she wouldn't have to remove her entire armor suit.  She removed the plate protecting her pelvis, revealing the skin-tight body-suit all the LDE members wore underneath their armor.  She then unfastened the zipper at her groin, unzipping all the way from front to back.  She placed the towel Omega had given her carefully on her chair then set back down. She grabbed a fistful of Mora's hair and yanked her head back up and pressed her face into her groin.  "I don't think I have to tell you what to do now.  Go slow, little girl."    
  
Delta's legs, thickened by muscle and then encased in armor that further widened them, engulfed Mora's head.  Delta thought about draping her knees over Mora's shoulders but worried her armor would cause bruising.  Instead, she spread her legs as wide as they would go.   She threw her head back and sighed with pleasure as Mora began to work.  "That's good, little girl.  A nice and slow pace.  Just like that.  We have," Delta glanced at the clock, "nine hours and forty-three fucking minutes to go."  She sighed.  "You are going to work for ever single one of those minutes, Mora.  Prepare yourself."  Delta closed her eyes, waves of pleasure washing over her, engrossed by Mora's work.    
  
So engrossed, she completely forgot about the monitors behind her and what the security cameras outside were recording.  


	3. And Now An Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I realized, while writing this story, that the plot-line didn't have much of the 'titillation' factor that people expect from a Sex Arcade story. I decided to throw these two scenes into the story to give people more of what they want and to remind everyone of just what kind of organization the Sex Arcade really is. I've had these two scenes in my head for a while so it was nice to write them down. I hope you enjoy them.
> 
> Please remember to fave and/or vote for this story if you like it.

Zelda closed her eyes and quietly cried. She thought about the life she'd had, years ago, before being brought to this place. 

Before being brought to Hell. 

That's what this place had to be. No matter how many times her captors told her that this place, this 'Sex Arcade', was not the afterlife, Zelda did not, could not, believe them. What other place but Hell could inflict this degradation, this abuse, so many times for so little reason? They told her she would be released - eventually. Ten years at the most, but less if she were to co-operate willingly. This was nonsense, of course, a lie told by demons just to torment her even more. A soul sent to Hell dwelt there for an eternity and how could this not be Hell? 

Zelda tried to remember what transgression she had committed to deserve a fate of endless rape for all eternity. She tried to remember, like she had tried countless times before, desperately hoping to recall what sins had damned her to this place. Damned her to Hell. If she could recall what she had done she might find some way to atone, find some way to convince the Three Goddesses to have mercy on her. And like all the countless times before she could not remember. She'd never been anything but a kind and decent person. She could not recall a sin that would deserve a punishment this severe. Zelda knew her only hope was that the torture afflicted on her would be her penance- these agonies and miseries, the humiliating acts she was forced to perform, debasing herself with one man after the other for hours on end - these might one day wash away her sins and she might be forgiven the unknown deed that had angered the Goddesses so severely. 

The hostess, standing just behind where Zelda kneeled on the floor, gave a small pull on the cable running down Zelda's back. Zelda wore nothing but the shackles and a metal collar. Zelda's hands were shackled behind her, with a cable attached to the shackles running up to her neck. The cable was short, forcing Zelda to keep her hands midway up her back or be choked by the loop at the end of the cable that was wrapped around her neck. Her shoulders were burning from the strain - before this place she would have found the pain almost unendurable - but now she was used to this kind of pain. 

The cable wasn't strictly necessary, nor were the shackles and the other types of bondage equipment used on her every day. Zelda had long ago given up any acts, or even any thoughts, of resistance. The cable and shackles were, just like the metal collar locked to Zelda's slender neck, constant reminders of her status. 

"Open your eyes, princess. Let the nice man see those beautiful baby blues." The hostess gave another small pull on the cable with her right hand, just enough to slightly tighten the loop around Zelda's neck. Her left hand rested on Zelda's head, making sure Zelda kept her face toward her latest client standing nude in front of her. 

Zelda eyes - red, puffy, and brimming with tears - reluctantly opened. She looked forward then quickly glanced up to see the client's face. She had once hoped that meeting the eyes of her clients and letting them see her fear and pain would convince them to take pity on her. She once hoped that they would see she was a real person, who had feelings and hopes, and was not just a toy to be used. It never worked. Many of the clients seemed to take great satisfaction in the misery they inflicted. Now, she looked up not in the vain hope of mercy, but so she wouldn't have to stare at the man's erect penis hovering inches in front of her face. 

"I never fucked a princess before," the man said. "I guess you could say I'm about to get the 'royal treatment.'" He laughed and the hostess giggled along with him as if it were a joke that hadn't been said hundreds of times before. 

The hostess stroked Zelda's golden hair softly. "The princess promised, when she was just a little girl, that she'd do everything she could to serve her people." The client and hostess laughed again. "She takes that promise very seriously." The hostess kneeled down and turned Zelda's face towards the side. She kissed Zelda on the lips. "The princess always keeps her promises. That's what we love about her." The hostess stood back up. "Isn't that right, Zelda?" the hostess asked. 

Zelda looked down and away from the man. "Yes," she said quietly.

The hostess yanked on the cable and forced Zelda to turn her face forward again. "Yes, what? Tell the nice man what you promised."

"I promised - " Zelda stopped unable to speak further. Her eyes closed again.

Zelda had made a promise when she was a child, just like her mother and father had done when they were children, to always put the needs of her people before her own. Zelda remembered all the dreams and hopes she'd had, all the plans she'd made for when she inherited the throne and became the ruler of the kingdom. She'd had so many plans to help her people . . . All those hopes and dreams were like beams of light stretching into her past. 

Now all those beams of light ended here, with Zelda forced to kneel and suck a man's cock. Zelda knew there were no more lights to be made in her existence. 

The hostess yanked again, harder this time, holding the tension for a few seconds. Zelda coughed when the pressure released, the cable leaving a red line around her throat. "Come on, Zelda. I told you to keep those pretty eyes of yours open. And tell the nice man that you promise to serve him. Serve him like a good princess should."

Zelda looked up. The man's face was a blur, her eyes filled with tears she couldn't wipe away. "I promise to serve you like a good princess."

The hostess patted her head, and smiled. "There we go. Now, remember, you made a promise. A princess has to keep her promises or she doesn't deserve to be called a princess."

"Princess Whore is a good name for her I think," the man said. He stroked himself lightly, keeping his erection going. "Or, 'The Whore Princess?' Yes, 'The Whore Princess' flows off the tongue better." He moved forward and rested his penis on Zelda's chin. "Speaking of tongues . . ."

Zelda opened her mouth and waited for the man to begin. He began pumping in and out of her mouth, slowly, yet steadily. He kept both hands on either side of her face, while his hips rocked back and forth. The hostess would pull on the cable whenever Zelda showed any hesitancy or made any attempts to pull her head away. She pushed on the back of Zelda's head, when required, to steady her against the client's more forceful thrusts. 

Zelda closed her eyes and tried to forget what was happening to her. She thought about what the hostess had said earlier. "No matter how bad you think it is now," she had said while looping the cable around Zelda's neck, "it can always be worse. Never forget that princess." 

Zelda believed her. Even though Zelda couldn't imagine what could be worse than what was happening to her, Zelda still believed her. 

_________________________________________________________  
The men waited patiently outside the door to the newest feature at the Sex Arcade. The line stretched back for yards, dozens of men waiting, tickets in hand, for the new attraction to start. The men, and the new attraction, were located in the Sex Arcade's secure facility, designed to hold the Subjects who possessed abilities that made them extremely dangerous. The psychics on duty at the secure facility nullified those abilities, making those Subjects no more difficult to control than the average female human. 

The Sex Arcade used both carrot and stick to control their Subjects. Those Subjects that did not co-operate with their captors - those labeled NC or Non-Compliant - faced a harsh lifestyle. NC's were kept completely nude when not servicing clients in their booths and their food was little more than flavorless gruel. Their living quarters were tiny and barren, with nothing more than a thin mattress on the floor to sleep on. They were given no form of entertainment to occupy their minds when not working. Those Subjects that obeyed willingly would be rewarded; with better food, better living quarters, with clothes to wear when not working and various other luxuries. 

Nearly all Subjects chose to co-operate sooner or later. Everyone had a breaking point and the Sex Arcade was expert at finding what would push a Subject, from any world, past that point. But there were always a tiny number of holdouts who simply refused to break, no matter how degrading, how harsh their living conditions were. For them, the Sex Arcade had to devise more extreme measures. 

The door opened and the man at the front of the line entered, the door closing behind him. The room he had entered was medium-sized, with a low ceiling and soft red carpeting on the floor. The main feature for this room, and the new attraction being advertised all over the facility, kneeled in the center of the floor. She was a white woman, with dark hair and large breasts. The letters NC had been crudely scrawled on her breasts with a black marker. The standard metal collar that all Subjects wore was padlocked around her neck. Her entire body was lean and muscled, her abs and biceps clearly visible under her skin. She was completely nude, with a short round pillar pressed against her back. The pillar was just high enough to reach her shoulder-blades and was several feet in diameter. Her arms had been pulled straight back, hands palms up, and shackled flat against the top of the pillar. Her ankles and knees were clamped to the floor, with her calves pressed against either side of the pillar. A chain wrapped around her waist kept her torso from moving. 

A sturdy o-ring was strapped inside her mouth, forcing her jaws open. Drool was already running from her mouth and dripping onto her body. Her head was securely locked into a harness, with the harness attached to a metal rod sticking straight against the back of her head. The rod was part of an electric motor placed on top of the pillar, right behind the woman. When turned on, the motor pistoned the rod back-and-forth, forcing the woman's head - and open mouth - to move along with it. 

"Is that really Wonder Woman?" the man asked, his voice filled with awe.

"It sure is, sir," a hostess standing next to the pillar said.

"She's a princess isn't she? I guess when I fuck her you could say I'm getting the 'royal treatment.'" He threw his head back and laughed. 

"Oh, I never thought about that, sir," the hostess replied. She giggled along with him, then rolled her eyes when he wasn't looking. 

"What she'd do to deserve the special treatment?" the man asked as he undressed.

"This here is a very naughty and mean Amazonian princess who doesn't like following the rules. And since she won't follow the rules, she gets to use the fuck-machine everyday until she decides to behave herself." The hostess smiled and met Wonder Woman's eyes, while running a fingernail along her jawline. "I've got $50 dollars betting you won't make it to the end of this shift. I aim to win that bet," she leaned in and whispered into Wonder Woman's ear, "so if you don't want to find the booth is out of lube during your next shift, you better not lose me that money." She kissed Wonder Woman's forehead, then stood back up. 

"How long is the shift?" the man asked, now fully nude. He stepped up to Wonder Woman and placed the head of his cock just inside the ring forcing her mouth open.

"Eight hours. And what a fun eight hours it will be, won't it sweety?" The hostess turned the motor on and Wonder Woman's helpless mouth began slowly bobbing back-and-forth on the man's penis. It continued like that for several minutes, the man standing with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. 

"Let's get this going a little faster, darling," the man said to the hostess. She turned a dial and Wonder Woman's mouth began moving faster, then faster and then faster again, until her hair was a wild mess. The man shuddered, then reached down and rubbed his penis until he ejaculated into Wonder Woman's open mouth. The motor was turned off, her head slowly winding to a stop. He stood back, breathing heavily, then motioned for the hostess to clean him. 

"That was fun for the uniqueness of it, if nothing else. Although, it's not that great a blowjob when the whore can't actually get her mouth around it and give the guy's cock a good sucking." He began to dress after he was cleaned. "But, fuck it, it was cheap and quick. And a blowjob's a blowjob. Even if it's from a whore locked in some kind of fucked-up machine."

"Fuck-machine, sir, is the proper name for it," the hostess said with a giggle. "We'll have to help the other guys along if they need it." 

Throughout all this, Wonder Woman maintained a stony silence, refusing to talk or make any kind of noise.

The hostess grabbed a spray bottle and sprayed Wonder Woman's face with clean water, then wiped it with disinfectant towels. This finished, the next man was led inside, where he undressed and began raping Wonder Woman's mouth without any preambles. He shuddered to a climax several minutes later. There followed another short cleaning session and the next man was led in. Then another man. And another. On and on it went, one man after another taking their pleasure with Wonder Woman's helpless mouth. Hours passed and dozens of men were cycled through the room. 

It was during one of the mandated rest periods, where the ring-gag was removed so Wonder Woman could relax her jaw, when she finally broke.

"Please." 

The hostess stopped cleaning, surprised at what she was hearing. "I was beginning to wonder if you could actually talk, Wonder Woman. What are you asking for?"

"Please . . . " Wonder Woman tried to speak further, but her voice broke. She was dehydrated from the day's work.

"Here you go, sweety." The hostess sprayed water into Wonder Woman's mouth several times then waited for her to swallow it. She repeated the process two more times. "Try speaking again."

"Please . . . please stop this. I will do whatever you ask me to do; I do not care what you require, I will do it. I swear upon my mother's name, Hippolyta. Just, please . . . get me out of this machine." Wonder Woman's will cracked entirely and the tears and sobs she had been holding back for so long, flowed forth. "I'll do anything, I swear. If you have any mercy in you, please get me out of this infernal contraption."

"Well that's good that you say that, sweety. But you still have eight more customers lined up outside and we can't go disappointing the customers."

"No, please, I'll fuck - I'll suck them or whatever they want, I just can't be in this thing anymore. Please -" Wonder Woman's pleading was cut off when the hostess stuffed the ring-gag back in her mouth. She continued begging, the gag distorting her words beyond comprehension.

"Sorry, princess, but the customer always comes first. Don't you worry, though. I'll give you a countdown so you know exactly how much longer you have left in the fuck-machine."

The session continued after that, with the hostess counting down each customer as they finished.

"Seven left to go, princess, hang in there."

"Just six more, you can do it."

"Five more."

"And now just four guys left, you're almost there."

"Three more."

"Two more, the next guy's the last one!"

"And you did it! No more customers left. That wasn't so bad was it?"

A hostess entered the room and whispered a message.

"Sorry about this, princess, but more customers just arrived and you still got an hour left on your shift. Oh well. Sorry to get your hopes up like that."


	4. The (Air) Calvary Arrives

Donovan looked down at his latte. There were ripples in the dark liquid, like tiny waves, radiating out from the center. He suddenly realized what the strange feeling was. "The fucking floor is shaking."

A man sitting next to him nodded in agreement. "I feel that shit too, man." The vibrations were small, yet seemingly encompassing the entire building.

_Hey there, Donovan. Remember me?_

Donovan jumped up, looking behind him for the source of the voice he had just heard. His heart-rate spiked and a jolt of adrenaline, cold as ice-water, surged up his spine and through his veins. "Who the fuck said that?"

_I'm not actually there, knucklehead. I'm just a voice in your head._

"Omega? Is that you? It's been years! You wouldn't happen to know why the floor's shaking would you?" The men around Donovan gave him funny looks but he ignored them.

_Yes, it's me Donovan. And it hasn't been nearly long enough._

A barrage of emotions bled through the mind-link, crashing into Donovan's mind. Anger. Excitement. Disgust. He had never felt feelings this intense from the psychic before. Overlaying it all, the most intense emotion by far, was a deep feeling of guilt. To Donovan, it felt like Omega held herself personally responsible for some terrible crime.

_Yes, Donovan. I am guilty. Of terrible things. I plan to make up for that._   
_Today is a day of atonement._   
_Of cleansing away our sins._   
_A day to set events in their proper order._

Donovan suddenly grabbed his head as a spike of pain shot into his brain.

_It's time to put things in their proper places, Donovan. To answer your question, yes, I do know why the floor's shaking. You'll find out yourself, shortly. I just wanted to say that we're going to meet - in person - today, Donovan. It's a meeting that should have happened a long time ago._

  
_I look forward to it._

"If I remember correctly, Omega, you said you'd probably kill me if we ever met in person." There was no reply. "You still there, Omega?" The voice of the psychic had left Donovan's mind. The pain was gone, too. He shook off the strange conversation and forced his addled mind to focus on the current mystery.

A man had his hand pressed against a wall, concentrating on what he was feeling through his palm, his eyes closed. "There's something right outside this wall. Some kind of vehicle. It feels like a giant engine is revving."

Donovan rushed over and press his hand onto the same wall. "There is something. It feels familiar . . . I've felt something like this before. I can hear something -" He pressed his ear up against the wall, then closed his eyes and concentrated. It was there - faint but clear. Some kind of rhythmic sound, like a piece of machinery being operated at high RPMs . . . he couldn't quite place it. The noise grew a bit louder. Still low, but Donovan was suddenly able to recognize it. "It's a helicopter. A helicopter just landed right outside this wall." The vibrations spiked, strong enough now to rattle tables and knock cups to the floor. He looked up. The new source of vibrations was coming from above.

"I think a helicopter just landed on the roof," a voice in the room spoke.

The first tendrils of panic were creeping into Donovan's brain.

"Do they have a helicopter pad on the roof?" a man asked.

There was silence. Everyone there was looking at each other for answers, but no-one spoke up.

"They don't let people see outside. And why the fuck would they be using helicopters? We all just walk through a portal to get here."

Now the panic was seizing hold. Donovan felt his heart accelerate. His mind was racing, thinking of what to do. The only way out of the building, that he knew of, was the portal room. He turned and was about to start running when the whole building shook again, causing him to stumble. He threw his hand out and steadied himself against the wall. That new sound wasn't a helicopter - that was something else.

"That - that was an explosion. Had to be," a voice in the room said. Donovan didn't bother to look to see who.

There was another bang. This time it was unmistakably an explosion, somewhere in the building. Then another. And another. A string of explosions went off, some close to Donovan, others far away. Suddenly, there was one just a few yards away, where a hallway dead-ended at a wall. The wall burst in with an incredibly loud bang and the hallway was suddenly flooded by dust and smoke.

When the air cleared, helped by a strong wind now blowing in from outside, a hole had been blasted into the wall letting in the sunlight from outside. The sound of a helicopter was now unmistakable, blades rotating as it sat on the ground. The hole was roughly rectangular, tall enough and wide enough to allow a man to move through it.

Everyone around Donovan stood perfectly still, not talking, stunned into immobility by the sudden events. It was like time inside the building had stopped. A voice in Donovan's subconscious was screaming at him to run, to hide, to do something, but he was frozen in place. The sound of the helicopter engine wound down and the breeze from the rotors faded. Seconds passed by. Nothing more seemed to happen.

"We gotta get the fuck outta here!"

Donovan finally ran.

Figures began pouring in through the hole.  
_________________________________________________________  
Shepard, Liara, and Miranda looked at the glass John was pointing at. There were ripples in the orange juice inside. John checked his watch again and said, "Just three seconds behind schedule. They really are the best."

"John, what's happening? What is that feeling?" Shepard asked. The tendril of hope, the one Shepard had forced back down earlier, was back. She could feel it worming it's way into her brain, and into her heart, but she was fighting it. A hope that was glimpsed and then snatched away was the worst form of torture there was. That lesson had been beaten into her too many times before.

"What is happening is that pilots from the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment are landing outside the walls of this very building." He smiled at their stunned faces. "Now, ladies, and please don't take this the wrong way, I think it's time we head to the bedroom."

The three captives sat still, wanting to believe, but too fearful of being wrong. "No, I don't believe you," Miranda said as she shook her head. "This is some kind of trick. It's just a sick game you're playing with us." Miranda's voice grew louder. "Why? Why can't you just . . . just have your fun and go?" Her cheeks were flushed and her left hand, the one not holding Liara's, squeezed into a fist until her knuckles turned white. "Why do sickos like you have to screw our heads instead of just our bodies?"

John went down on one knee in front of the couch, his palms raised. "Please, I swear to you, I'm here to get you out. There are people outside, soldiers riding in the helicopters, that are going to break in here and let everyone escape." He slowly held out his right hand to Miranda. "I know it's been terrible in here. I can't imagine what you have been through. I know you probably don't trust anyone, especially someone who just paid to -" he paused, looking pained. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment. "Someone you think just paid to hurt you. And you have every right to feel that way. But right now, you have to take cover inside the bedroom till the soldiers find us."

His hand was now right in front of Miranda's knee, waiting for her to take it. "I won't hurt any of you, I promise. I'll stay on the other side of the room if you want me to." John met the eyes of the three women in turn. "Please, please believe me, you are so close to getting out of this place. But we have to take cover till the soldiers get to us and the bedroom is the safest place to be in here." The room shook slightly, in a sudden burst of vibration different from before. Their followed another vibration and another, until a whole chain of bumps reverberated throughout the room. "Those are my friends blasting their way in here."

An alarm started, a siren wailing through the whole building. "Miranda, I believe him," Shepard said. The lighting in the room suddenly flickered, then went out completely. The lights came back on a moment later.

Miranda slowly extended her hand toward John's. She stopped just before grasping it, her fingertips touching his. "You promise that what you're saying is true?" The anger had faded from her voice and face. She wanted so badly for it to be true . . .

"I promise."

Miranda grabbed his hand. They all stood up and ran for the bedroom door.

An explosion, bigger and stronger than any of the others, brought the ceiling down on them.


	5. Code Red

Delta moaned as Mora's ministrations continued. She interlocked her fingers and placed them behind her head while leaning back. "Oh Jesus . . . yeah that's good. God, Omega really trained you well, Mora. You are going to be my property for a while - I don't care what Omega says. Better keep that tongue nice and limber, little girl . . ."

A beeping noise interrupted the festivities in the monitor room. The sound was coming from the camera controls right behind Delta's chair. Delta recognized it as the motion-detection alarm and ignored it. That wasn't hard with what Mora was doing. The damn thing went off for every jackrabbit and dust cloud that swept by a camera . . .

The beeping sound continued, however, rather than shutting off after a few seconds like it normally did. More beeping sounds joined it, one alarm for each camera that detected an object passing in front of it. 

Delta suddenly became uneasy as she suddenly realized how badly she was shirking her monitor duty. The LDE team-members prided themselves on their discipline and self-control while working. She'd never done anything that so blatantly violated regulations. Not while on duty, at least. And no-one had ever brought one of the Subjects into the monitor room before - not while she was working. How had she screwed up so badly?

Her train of thought was interrupted by a new sound, replacing the noise of the motion alarms. This one was a continous buzzing, rather than a steady beeping. It was an alarm that Delta only knew from exercises and had never expected to hear in real life. 

"Get off me!" Delta yelled and shoved Mora's head away from her crotch. Delta's push, her strength magnified by her power suit, flung Mora straight back. Mora's head collided with the wall behind her with a dull thump, leaving a dent in the dry-wall. Mora slid to the ground limp and motionless, lying in a tangled heap. Delta leapt from her chair, knocking it to the floor. She frantically zipped up her body suit with one hand while grabbing the armor plate meant to cover her pelvis with the other.

That new alarm meant an outside force had penetrated the outer wall of the building Delta was located in. It meant a perimeter breach.

The Sex Arcade was being invaded.

As she fumbled to get her suit back in place, she looked at what the monitors were showing. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. She dropped the armor plate, with a clang of metal when it struck her armored foot. 

"Oh, fuck." 

Helicopters were landing right outside the Sex Arcade's walls on dozens of the monitors, kicking up enormous clouds of dust and debris. Delta could see a massive helicopter already on the ground, it's dual, giant-sized rotors slowly winding to a stop. The chopper's back ramp was lowered, looking almost absurdly like a bullfrog with its tongue sticking out, with twin lines of camouflaged soldiers rapidly exiting. Delta recognized it as an aircraft called 'Chinook.' On another monitor a smaller type of helo hovered just above the top of the building, with soldiers rapidly rappelling to the roof, sliding down two ropes dangling from its open doors. That one was called a 'Blackhawk.' 

Delta slapped her big hand down on a red button in front of her, activating the general alarm. As a siren began wailing throughout the entire facility, she frantically bent down, reaching for her dropped armor plate. She whacked her forehead on the toppled chair in her haste. She ignored the pain from her head, as she scooped up the plate and slammed it back into its proper position, the seals closing with a click. She checked the monitors again as her suit ran tests to ensure her armor was now properly secured.

Delta saw immediately it was a major attack, involving a large number of troops and equipment. All of the soldiers looked heavily armed and equipped with modern body armor. They moved and handled their lethal-looking weaponry with the smooth grace indicating long periods of intensive training. All of the attackers looked human, as far as she could tell. Their weapons and equipment seemed normal for what the militaries of this world issued to their soldiers. That was a relative relief for Delta; her weaponry and armor gave her the advantage over any soldiers that came from this world. 

Another alarm went off, this time indicating a breach of the front gate located at the only road leading to the facility. A monitor showed a large, multi-wheeled armored personnel carrier ramming the metal gate that blocked the road, knocking it to the ground. The APC accelerated rapidly, running over the fallen gate, heading up the road to join in the attack. Dozens of similar vehicles followed, streaming by the camera in a massive column stretching back hundreds of yards. Delta recognized the design. It was a vehicle the government of this country called a Stryker. 

Regulations said whoever was on monitor duty was responsible for organizing resistance to invaders. Delta's mind raced, examining the current situation. The Sex Arcade was in a bad position, with a large enemy force right at the doorstep. From what she could see, there was a battalion-sized unit being deployed against them. That meant a force of around five-hundred soldiers - which significantly out-numbered the two-hundred security guards and twelve LDE team-members at the facility. And the enemy had achieved total surprise, breaching inside before anyone could react. Even with the advantage given to the LDE teams from their advanced gear - built on a different world than this one - the numbers were probably too great to overcome. 

She paused for a moment, thinking about what order to give. The Sex Arcade had trained for moments like this and there were standing orders in place on what to do when an alarm was sent from the monitor room. All security guards were to arm themselves and the portal room was to go into lock-down and wait for further orders. A Quick Reaction Force located in a building a half-mile from the main building was to mobilize and counter-attack any invading force. That was the plan; Delta knew that the QRF, consisting of the eight LDE members not on patrol and a platoon of thirty security-guards, would risk annihilation if they tried attacking a force many times their size. She did not expect any help from the QRF in the battle to come. 

She analyzed the situation like she had been trained to do. Realistically, only a major government could have orchestrated this assault; almost certainly the United States considering that's where the Sex Arcade's facility was currently located. If the US government was aware of the Sex Arcade's existence and was actively trying to destroy it, then the only real option was ordering Bolthole. 

Bolthole was a plan known only to the LDE team-members and upper management. Ordering Bolthole meant complete abandonment of all Sex Arcade facilities on this world and a retreat through a Mass Quantic Gate. A retreat by the upper management and the LDE teams, at least. Lower-level employees, excepting Security personnel, were to be eliminated when Bolthole was ordered. If they could save enough LDE team-members, then acquiring new Subjects and setting up shop on a new world - where no-one was looking for them - could be done relatively easily. It wouldn't be the first time the Sex Arcade had been forced to move operations.

But Delta didn't have the authority to order Bolthole. 

That left her with Code Green and Code Red. Green meant every security guard and employee in the building was to retreat toward the portal room and secure it until reinforcements arrived or the order to abandon the facility was given. Red meant the same thing - the only exception being that every Subject and customer was to be gunned down while the guards retreated. 

Delta weighed the pro's and con's. Ordering Red might slow down the guards and distract them from getting to the portal room, which was imperative at this point. On the other hand, the facility was already lost and anyone left behind would just be a source of information for the enemy . . . 

She picked up the hand-held radio sitting in front of her and spoke into it. "This is a Code Red situation, I repeat this is a Code Red. All units leaders respond, over." All she heard in reply was static. She twisted a dial and switched to a different frequency, sending out the same message and receiving only static again. She tried another frequency, with the same results, before deciding the invaders were jamming her radio. That left her with the building's broadcast system to communicate with, which was dangerous to use. The invaders could hear any orders she gave over the intercom just as well as the Sex Arcade's employees, but she was left with little choice. 

She pressed a button and spoke, her voice captured by a microphone stand in front of her and broadcast throughout the entire building, "All security personnel report to your armories and retrieve weapons ASAP. All LDE teams are to report to junction Alpha-six and hold that position. This is a Code Re-" 

Delta's orders were terminated by a pounding impact to the back of her skull. Lights burst in her eyes and she fell forward, knocking the microphone over, a whine of feedback reverberating through the building. She instinctively spun around, swinging her arm in a half-circle. She hit nothing but air. Another crashing blow hit her right cheek, the bone cracking from the force. 

Delta swung her arm out again, this time hitting a glancing blow to her assailant's rib cage. The assailant moved with the impact, diving to the side and rolling gracefully on the floor before springing back up and assuming a fighting stance. Delta now saw who was attacking her - the only other person in the room.

"Morahh," Delta said, her words slurred by the blood filling her mouth. "What tha fugh are you doingsh?" She saw that Mora was now free of the shackles that had bound her wrists behind her and free of the metal collar which had been locked to her neck. The collar was now held in Mora's hand like an oversized ring, and had obviously been used to cause the stunning blows to Delta's head. Delta's vision was blurred and she felt her legs shake as she struggled to stay standing. Her eyes darted to the metal rack where her rifle was sitting, judging the distance. 

Mora took advantage of the split-second Delta's eyes were off her. She moved in, striking with viper-quickness at Delta's face with the collar. The collar clanged into Delta's jaw, spinning her head to the left. The crack of Delta's jaw breaking was clearly audible. Mora spun around, her arm swinging out wide, as she used the inertia of her spin to slam the collar into Delta's head again. This time she hit Delta in the right eye, the blow breaking the socket.

Delta desperately punched out, trying to hit Mora while she was still conscious. Her fist connected with Mora's rib-cage, but again, Mora moved with the blow, softening the impact. She rolled backwards, flipping head-over-heels on the ground and then sprang back up, before moving in to hit Delta in the face again. Delta fell to her knees as blow after blow smashed into her head. The last sight she saw before blackness swallowed her was the collar connecting with her nose, the appendage crunching under the blow.   
_________________________________________________________  
Donovan ran as soldiers streamed through the breach into the building. He had caught a glimpse of the first one through, a man in a camouflaged outfit and helmet, holding a shield in front of him with the letters FBI emblazoned on the front. The other men had streamed away in every direction, looking like cockroaches scurrying away from a sudden light. 

The soldiers screamed as they ran inside, "FBI, FBI, down, down, down! Get on the floor, get on the fucking floor, now!" One of them tossed a cylinder ahead of him, the grenade exploding with a small flash and puff of smoke several seconds later. A dozen soldiers moved in through the breach and took up positions covering the approaches to the waiting area they had entered. Three of them holstered their weapons and began securing the hands of the men lying prone on the ground with zip-ties all of the soldiers carried on their belts. 

Donovan gasped for air as he ran for the portal room, his heart and lungs racing to provide oxygen to his hard-working muscles. He could hear the sound of gunfire erupting around him, as the invaders were met with resistance. He knew the building had a quick-reaction force ready to go at a moment's notice, armed with short-barreled MP-5Ks and shotguns. But they were trained in handling an escaping Subject or a violent customer, not a full-scale invasion. The odds were not looking good for the Sex Arcade, which meant the portal room was Donovan's only real chance of escaping. 

For a second he had worried every employee and client inside the facility would be shot on sight by the invaders, but seeing the FBI symbol had changed his mind. Of course, if he was caught - assuming he wasn't lined up against the nearest wall and shot anyways - the FBI were bound to search his house, eventually, just to be thorough. When that happened, and they found the contents of the trailer in his backyard, the only questions would be how long Donovan would spend on death-row and the method of his execution. 

He rounded a corner and slammed to a halt, slapping his hand on the wall to stop himself. The invaders had gotten ahead of him. He could see scared-looking men lying on the ground, their hands on top their heads as they were searched by a group of soldiers. One of the soldiers, his face hidden by a black balaclava, raised his weapon, centering the red dot of his laser sight on Donovan's chest. 

"Stop right there! Do not move and lie down on the ground with your hands on your head. Do it! Do it right now!" 

In the split-second before he ran back the way he came, Donovan realized the weapon pointed at him was an MP-5 with the long cylinder of a suppressor on the end of the barrel. He'd trained on that same type of weapon when he was in the Army - if that soldier fired, Donovan wouldn't even hear the sound of the bullet that killed him. 

He turned and ran again, the sounds of gunfire and explosions echoing around him as the Sex Arcade came crashing down.   
_________________________________________________________  
Catwoman stretched her feet up, rising up on her toes, trying desperately to ease the strain on her shoulders. Her hands had been shackled together, then a cable had been padlocked to the chain running between the shackles. Her ankles were fastened to rings in the tile floor she was standing on, spreading her legs shoulder-width apart. An electric pulley had been activated pulling her hands up and up and up until her nude body was stretched tight as a bowstring, her heels off the floor. Just enough slack had been left so that she could - just barely - take some of the strain off her shoulders by standing on her tip-toes. 

Catwoman knew the slack hadn't been left out of mercy, but as another subtle form of torture, leaving her to choose whether to shift her weight onto her aching shoulders or her screaming calf muscles. Her mouth had been stuffed with a large bit-gag, the straps buckled tightly behind her head, stretching her cheeks back in an obscene smile. After she was secured, the first client was allowed in and Catwoman's ordeal had commenced. 

Catwoman was in one of the Sex Arcade's 'punishment booths' where Subjects who had committed an infraction were sent for 'counseling.' At least, counseling was what Management called it, in proper Orwellian fashion. In reality, what went on inside the punishment boots was nothing but physical and mental torture. Clients were allowed to torture the Subjects inside the booths, using various implements like whips, paddles and clamps, while under supervision. The Hostess on duty decided when the Subject's shift was over, up to a maximum of sixteen hours. 

In Catwoman's case, she was in the punishment booth for spitting in the face of a Hostess, named Candy, the day before. She had been provoked into a moment of mindless rage by the daily humiliations forced upon her and had lashed out at the nearest person. Candy was the Hostess who was now supervising her punishment and was the one who decided when Catwoman's 'counseling' was over. Catwoman's time at the Arcade had been nightmarish, the kind of horrible ordeal she would not have wished on her worst enemy. But she knew this day would be the worst day since she had been kidnapped and brought to the Sex Arcade.

"Hey there, kitty cat. Let's give these nipples something to think about." Her first torturer - who'd asked to be called Mongo, of all things - clamped her nipples, which had always been the most sensitive part of her body. Something almost every client, of which there had been hundreds, discovered to their great delight. Heavy metal balls, about the size of golf-balls, were hung from the clamps stretching her nipples downwards. The client was a white man in his mid-forties with the broad shoulders and chest of a linebacker. He slapped the metal balls, setting them swinging wildly from side-to-side. "Let's see what else I can do," Mongo said and went to pick a whip from the rack on the wall. The one he picked was a leather single-tail, about a meter long. He considered it for a moment. 

"Mongo like."

"Sir, I have to ask you to be extremely careful with that," the Hostess Candy said. Candy had been looking forward to this shift ever since she'd been spat on. Looking forward to seeing the pain, the fear, the terror and, most of all, the crushing despair on Catwoman's face as her punishment went on. The thought of Catwoman begging for mercy, only to be denied again and again, gave Candy a warm, happy feeling. "No large marks are allowed on the Subject's body and you must make sure you go nowhere near her face with that." 

"Hey, safety is my middle name," Mongo replied. "My parents had really weird ideas about names." He flicked the whip out, a large crack splitting the air in the booth. He looped the whip in his hand, then walked to Catwoman's front and ran the crackers on the tip over her straining nipples. "You hear that, kitty cat? You got a real friend over there. She's looking out for you." 

He smiled as Catwoman let her feet sag, taking her body weight on her shoulders to give her exhausted calf muscles time to rest. He went to the control for the pulley and pressed the green UP button, yanking Catwoman's arms higher, until only the tips of her toes touched the ground. "There now. I've given your calves a chance to rest. Isn't that nice of me?" He kept smiling as Catwoman gasped from the pain in her shoulders and pleaded with him, her words turned to indecipherable grunts by the gag in her mouth.

"Let's get on with the main event." With that, Mongo cracked the whip across her back, leaving a thick, bleeding red line running between her shoulder-blades. 

"Sir, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to use a different instrument. You're not allowed to leave large marks on the Sex Arcade's property," Candy said. 

"But I didn't get to leave my Mark of Mongo on her back. Oh, well." He gave an exagerated sigh then dropped the whip in a tub labeled 'Dirty Instruments.' He then grabbed a leather flogger with thick tails from the wall as a replacement. "The great thing about this whip is that you can get both stinging and thudding impacts with it," Mongo said as he ran the tails over Catwoman's shoulders. "A dual-use item. Isn't that neat, kitty cat?" He laughed. "I guess it's not so neat from your perspective." 

With that he began to methodically whip Catwoman's back, starting at her shoulders and working his way down to her ass. Each impact struck with a dull 'thump' and a muffled scream from Catwoman. Several minutes later Mongo stopped, pausing for breath, before grabbing a paddle from the wall and continuing. After working over Catwoman's ass until it turned a bright red, he grabbed a thin bamboo cane and began using that on the backs and insides of Catwoman's thighs. During all this, he would occasionally slap the weights on her nipples, sending them swinging widely back-and-forth. 

The torture continued, relentlessly, seemingly endless until Catwoman's will broke completely. She gave up trying to stand on her toes and now hung lifelessly in her chains, her head drooped forward. Mongo stopped and admired his handiwork. Catwoman's back was bright red, interspersed with deeper shades of purple. She looked as if someone had rubbed her skin with a very fine grade of sandpaper. Her ass and thighs had thin, bloody lines criss-crossing over every square-inch. He walked around to Catwoman's front and grabbed a handful of her short, dark hair and yanked her head up. 

Candy walked over, her heels clicking loudly on the floor. She melted against his side and he put his arm around her waist, his hand cupping her ass. She looked at Catwoman's eyes and smiled at the black despair she saw. 

"I think she's learned her lesson, Candy. Don't you?" Mongo asked. 

"No, I don't think she's learned it yet. She needs another . . . oh, ten hours? No . . . hmm . . . twelve, I think. Yes, let's make it twelve." Candy flicked one of the weights dragging down Catwoman's nipples with her finger. "Another twelve hours of counseling before she really learns her lesson." She put her mouth next to Catwoman's ear and whispered, "Bet you're regretting spitting in my face now, aren't you, whore?" 

The man let go of Catwoman's hair and her head fell forward, lifelessly. He considered the wall of torture implements and thought about what next to use. He'd just grabbed another paddle, this one almost a meter long and made of inch-thick wood, when the room shook. 

"What the fuck was that?" Mongo asked. Another vibration shook the room. "Is that a fucking earth-"

Mongo's question was ended by a third blast, that shattered the window to the booth inwards, spraying broken glass over the floor. Candy screamed and Mongo dropped the paddle and dove to the floor. Soldiers began rushing past the window, clad in camo outfits with FBI printed on their chests and backs. They screamed for everyone in the building to lie down on the floor. 

Candy ducked and pressed against the wall next to Mongo, right below the busted window and out of sight of the soldiers for the moment. They listened as gunfire broke out, just a few feet outside the broken window. They could hear brief bursts of automatic firing, interspersed with the staccato pops of M-16's firing on semi-auto. Occasional booms were heard as shotguns were fired, then more explosions like the one that had broken the window erupted, shaking the room hard enough to knock tiles out of the ceiling. 

The sounds blended together, growing louder and more numerous as more and more firefights broke out across the facility. For several heart-stopping seconds the sounds of a firefight right outside the broken window drowned out everything, a massive fusillade of bullets and stun-grenades slowly moving down the hallway, as the invaders pushed resistance back. 

Candy put her hands over her ears and screamed till her throat was raw. The firing finally stopped, the moans and screams of wounded now replacing the sound of gunfire. Mongo and Candy could hear the invaders barking orders as they searched and secured the clients outside. 

Candy began to babble, "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, what are we gonna do, what are we gonna do, they'll kill us, I know it, WHAT ARE WE GONNA -"

Mongo slapped Candy, hard, whipping her head to the side. "Shut up. Shut up and let me think." Mongo peeked his head up and glanced out the window for a split-second, then ducked back down. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. There are dozens of FBI agents right outside the door. How the fuck do we get past them? Goddammit, if I get arrested for this shit, I'll go to jail for fucking life." Mongo suddenly saw Catwoman, still shackled to the floor and ceiling, where she had been since the fighting had erupted. He shook Candy and asked, "Listen to me, bitch. Do you have any kind of weapon in here?"

"No, we don't have anything in here. Just the shit on the walls!" Candy pointed at the whips, paddles and floggers hanging from hooks on the wall across from the duo. "Management doesn't allow anything lethal in here. Oh my god, I'm going to prison." Candy grabbed Mongo' shirt with both hands and began to talk hysterically, her voice rising, "They'll put me away forever for working here, you have to get us out -"

Mongo slapped her again and hissed, "Stop that and stay quiet. I need a weapon, anything. Even a fucking steak knife will do."

"We don't have anything in here, I told you," Candy said while holding her bruised cheek. 

Mongo looked down and saw the shattered glass lying on the floor. "It'll have to do." He carefully crawled away from the window and grabbed a rag from a from a desk, then looked around till he found a large piece of the broken window. He wrapped the rag around the glass to form a makeshift handle and then barked at Candy, "Get the bitch down from there. She's getting us out of here." 

Candy ran to the control and lowered Catwoman's hands from the ceiling, Mongo grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her body. Catwoman would have collapsed from exhaustion, if not for Mongo holding her up. Candy then unlocked the chain from her shackles and her ankles from the rings in the floor. The bit-gag was left in. Mongo pressed the jagged point of the glass piece against Catwoman's throat right at the jugular, a drop of blood welling up and sliding down her throat. He tried ducking down and shielding himself behing Catwoman, but he was too tall to do so and his head was left poking up over her shoulder. "Just walk nice and slow out the door, kitty-cat. We're leaving and you're the ticket out of here." 

The trio of Catwoman, Mongo and Candy made the slow walk to the door. Mongo yelled right before exiting, "If anyone out there tries to stop us, I am gonna cut this bitch's throat from ear-to-ear." He lowered his voice and spoke to Candy, "You lead the way, sweetheart. Get us to the portal room - that's the only way we're gonna make it out of here." 

Catwoman closed her eyes and prepared to die. There was no way she'd make it out of this situation alive. She'd die so close to freedom . . . At least dying would be better than living another day in this place.


	6. Love This Job

Zeta checked the monitors in front of her, alert for signs of trouble. Zeta was another member of the Sex Arcade's elite LDE teams and had worked in the past with both Delta and Omega. Zeta had the same body-building physique of Delta and Omega, but was shorter and slimmer; a result of her Vietnamese heritage as opposed to the others' Caucasian features. 

The acquisition missions were what Zeta lived for; the reason she got out of bed each morning, ready to deliver some new unsuspecting prey to their own personal Hell. Some missions were dangerous, like the one to acquire Shepard. That had involved an elaborate ambush, carefully prepared and executed. All four members of Zeta's team had come back from that mission with varying degrees of injury. Others were almost ludicrously easy, like the one to kidnap Snow White. Zeta had to suppress a laugh every time she remembered the dwarves and their ridiculous singing, even though the mission had taken place years ago. 

They weren't heigh-hoing after the LDE team was done with them. 

Zeta had personally carried Snow White's unconscious body to the medical room where the princess had been examined before her first day of work. Snow White was still at the Sex Arcade and Zeta visited her booth from time to time. The innocent girl had lost her happy demeanor forever; all that remained after years of daily abuse was a broken husk of a person. Zeta always made sure to remind the shattered girl that she had helped bring Snow White to her current, horrifying, situation. 

Zeta was on monitor duty at the Sex Arcade's secure facility, located in an abandoned Soviet-era military base in Russia. Zeta had an array of cameras and sensors to watch inside and outside the facility. The big difference between the secure and the less-secure facility was the number of guards at work; twice as many armed guards worked the secure facility - a total of just over four hundred - with two full LDE squads patrolling inside and another three squads outside ready to react to a crisis at any given time. Another six LDE squads lived at the facility and were available to help in an emergency. There were also ten psychics working the secure facility, with at least two on-duty at all times. The security might seem excessive to an outside observer, but the Sex Arcade wanted to make damn sure none of their traumatized genies escaped their bottles.

Of course, most organizations wouldn't let hundreds of men rape the genies every day. 

Thinking on it, Zeta realized there might be an actual, literal, genie in one of the booths. She'd have to check on it later; if there was she'd be paying that unfortunate creature a visit. She brought up her work profile on the console in front of her and checked her e-mail. The latest message from the Operations Manager was there, concerning new guidelines and new activities coming up. New acquisition missions were going to be launched soon; a necessity to replace Subjects who had been worked past the point of profitability. 

There was also a new guideline concerning Subject releases. The Subjects would no longer be returned to their home dimension after a set period of time. Instead, they'd be forced to work until they were no longer of any use and then sold off to a third party. Zeta had been arguing for something similar since the day she started working. The LDE teams were the ones responsible for transporting them back to their homes. Why should they have to risk their asses to return worn-out merchandise? Zeta checked the name of the buyers and was surprised she recognized it. Wraiths. Those were creatures from her home dimension. The Subjects would be begging to stay if they knew what was in store for them - those not too traumatized to care about living. 

Zeta thought about the implications of the new guidelines. The innocent Subjects were kidnapped from their homes by force - often violent, painful force. They were snatched away from everyone they loved and cared about, without warning or pity. They were imprisoned in a foreign land and forced to have sex with the clients under threat of merciless torture. Everything they had was taken from them - even clothing was denied to the new Subjects when not working. The Subjects were no longer people in the eyes of the Sex Arcade; they were property to be used like any other piece of equipment. All this horror - all this abuse and pain and misery - was inflicted on them to do nothing more than satiate the sadistic urges of strangers. And when that abuse inevitably took its toll and the Subjects were no longer desirable to the clients, they would be sold off to alien monsters who would use them as food. The stronger Subjects who resisted the most would only buy themselves more pain and misery in the long run. But weak or strong, co-operative or defiant, in the end the Subjects would all share the same grim fate. And Zeta would be personally involved in all of it. She'd be one of those kidnapping the Subjects and one of those contributing to their misery in the booths. 

Zeta smiled. It was the little things that made her love her job so much. 

Zeta gave a quick scan of the camera's, cycling through them. Everything looked normal. And boring. Zeta longed to get back on an acquisition mission so she could see some action again . . . Just then, a message came in on the hand-held radio Zeta used when her helmet was off. 

"Zeta this is Golf-Six, come in, over."

Zeta grabbed the palm-sized radio and thumbed the transmit button. "This is Zeta, over."

Golf-Six was the commander of the small team located in the Gate Room where the Mass Quantic Gate was housed, secured inside reinforced-concrete walls and sealed by a massive metal door. The Gate was the object without which the Sex Arcade could not exist and was the means by which new Subjects were acquired and, eventually, returned to their home dimensions. At least, it had been used for that; all releases and acquisitions had been stopped after the disastrous mission six months ago and the Gate had lain dormant ever since. 

"Zeta, the Gate is active! We have a teleport inbound." Golf-Six's voice was almost breathless with excitement. 

"A teleport from where?" As she asked this, Zeta shot to her feet and began manipulating the controls to bring up the cameras in the Gate Room.

"The DNA scanners are saying it's Wolf Squad. Maybe they're finally returnin-"

"No, no, no, it is not fucking Wolf Squad! Not after they've been missing for six months. Shut the fucking teleport down, right now." Zeta unconsciously slammed her metal gauntlet down on the table in front of her, cracking the surface. Wolf Squad had been one of the two squads involved in the failed mission six months ago. All four members had been lost and presumed dead or captured. 

"All - all right we're entering an override command . . ."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Golf-Six, this is Zeta, are you there, over?"

"Yes, this is Golf-Six. We entered the override but the teleport is not shutting down. We can't control it anymore. It's not taking any of our commands!"

Zeta's voice became low and threatening. "Listen to me carefully, Golf-Six; I don't care what it takes but you will get that teleport shut down. Shoot the power cables or blow up the fucking Gate if you have to, I don't care what you do. Whoever is coming, it is for goddamn sure not Wolf Squad." Zeta brought the radio to her lips. "Do not let that teleport complete." She slammed the radio down on the table. 

She then slapped her hand on the button that raised the general alarm throughout the facility. She scooped up her helmet and sealed it so she could communicate with her fellow LDE team-members currently on patrol.

"Bravo, this is Zeta, over." Bravo was the current commander of the LDE teams patrolling inside the facility. 

"This is Bravo, over."

"I need you to get your whole team together and get it down to the Gate Room, ASAP. We have potential hostiles inbound right now, over."

"Roger, Zeta. We have an issue here; Sigma is in the infirmary and out of action. She started vomiting ten minutes ago. Bravo, out." 

Sigma was an LDE team-member like Zeta and Bravo, and was one of the two psychics on-duty. The other psychic on-duty, Foxtrot, was with the LDE teams patrolling outside the building. Having one of their two psychics get sick at a critical time was awfully suspicious. For the first time that day - for the first time since Zeta had become an LDE member - she felt a faint whisper of fear stroke her mind. She clamped down on it and checked on Foxtrot. 

"Foxtrot, this is Zeta, over . . . Foxtrot, this is Zeta, over . . ."

"Zeta, this is Charlie; Foxtrot was taken to the infirmary five minutes ago. She started throwing up and then collapsed, over."

"Roger, Zeta out." She picked up the radio and called for a check of the other ten psychics who were off-duty. The reports came back minutes later: all of them were in the infirmary. The fear was real now. She manipulated the controls on the board in front of her and sent out a lock-down alert. She activated the broadcast system. "This is a total lock-down alert. All guards are to report to duty and arm themselves. All clients are to depart the premises, immediately. I need the guards to escort the clients out. Hostesses are to return all Subjects to their rooms and get them locked down tight." 

While every employee in the building hurried to follow her instructions, Zeta checked the camera showing the Gate itself. The Gate was a raised metal platform, circular in shape, surrounded by complicated pieces of machinery, with a profusion of cables running between them. The Gate showed little signs that anything was happening, other than some blinking lights. Zeta could tell that it hadn't been shut down and she knew Golf-Six would be too chicken-shit to actually destroy the Gate. She switched to the camera showing the Gate Room door. The door was a massive square-shaped slab of metal, taken from a Cold War-era Soviet military bunker. When she had pressed the general alarm button, the door had swung shut and four metal bolts as thick as her waist had sealed it. Zeta had heard the door could withstand a Hiroshima-level blast from just 100 meters away. 

She hoped it would be enough. 

Suddenly, there was a flash on the monitor showing the Gate Room. Four figures now stood on the platform, materialized out of thin air by the exotic energies of the Gate. All four wore LDE power-armor. Maybe Golf-Six had been right . . .

One of the figures had a strange bundle of electronics and wires strapped outside its chest-plate. A button was pressed on the bundle and a light began blinking. The blinking slowly grew faster, then faster and faster still. There was a white light drowning out the camera feed, then blackness. Zeta switched through the cameras inside the Gate Room while she tried contacting Golf-Six on the radio. All the cameras were down and there was no reply. 

"Bravo, this is Zeta. We have four hostiles in the Gate Room. I repeat, four hostiles. They are wearing LDE armor. Have your team assemble at the Gate Room door and wait for my instructions. You gotta haul ass and get there ASAP, over."

"Roger, Bravo out."

Minutes later Zeta saw Bravo leading her six fellow team-members at a blistering pace. The LDE armor suits and the gene enhancements all the LDE members possessed let the wearer run at the speed of an Olympic-level sprinter without breaking a sweat. The team assembled outside the metal Gate Room door.

"Zeta, this is Bravo, we are ready outside the Gate Room, over."

"Bravo, I have no contact or camera feeds inside the room. Hold your positions, over."

"Roger, Zeta. I recommend we breach inside the room now and attack the hostiles before they have time to prepar-"

BOOM

Zeta felt a tremor in the control room as Bravo's message was cut off. She looked at the monitor and saw nothing but grey floor. Something had knocked the camera askew. She switched to a camera further down the hall from the massive door, then swore quietly at what she saw.

"Bravo, this is Zeta, report in." 

Bravo and all of her team had been knocked to the floor by a massive impact on the bunker door just meters in front of them. The dense metal was now dented, with a pyramid-shaped ripple poking out from the surface. Bravo struggled to her feet.

"Zeta, this is Bravo!" Bravo's voice was trembling. "What the fuck is going on in the Gate Room?"

"This is Zeta; I still have no feeds inside the room. Move down the hallway and hold position. I'm sending reinforcements."

"You better hurry up with that Zet-"

BOOM

Another staggering impact hit the door, the thick metal vibrating like a ringing gong. Broken bits of concrete dropped from the ceiling as Bravo and her teammates quickly moved away. More impacts hit the door; smaller, yet as fast as a jackhammer. Bravo took up position at an intersection, leaning out from behind a wall and aiming her rifle at the door. As Bravo saw the door bending further and further out as it buckled under the avalanche of blows, she knew her weapon wouldn't be enough to stop whatever could do that. Nothing would be enough. 

Zeta was about to contact Charlie's team, patrolling outside the building, when she saw a flash of green on her monitors. Some bizzare object, looking like a gigantic wheel with cannons, was rolling towards the facility. The wheel looked like it was made of translucent green crystal. She saw Charlie's team engaging the wheel, to no apparent effect. 

She suddenly heard the buzzing sound of a perimeter breach alarm and was shocked at what a camera showed her. A man, wearing a red bodysuit with a gold cape and a lightning bolt on his chest had bashed his way through the wall with his bare hands. He suddenly flew through mid-air, with no visible means of flight, and disappeared. 

Zeta was stunned, overcome by the events happening. The nightmare scenario had come to pass; super-powered beings from another dimension had tracked down their missing comrades and had come to rescue them. Who knew what type of revenge they would take afterwards? Zeta cursed as she began communicating with the security guards in the building, trying to organize resistance. Six months ago Zeta had recommended the whole Sex Arcade operation should have moved to a new dimension, after the failed mission to acquire Huntress. But no, management had deemed the risks 'acceptable' and the profits from the current operations too lucrative to give up. Fat lot of good profits would do you if you were dead.

Zeta checked back outside and saw the LDE teams were in full retreat, pursued by the strange wheel. Zeta could now see the wheel was controlled by a man floating in mid-air, wearing a black and green bodysuit. There was a red blur near Charlie's team and a dust-trail like an object had moved at immense speed over the ground. Charlie's team was buffeted by explosions from objects that had been slapped on their armor by the red blur that had just zoomed past them. They fell and were run over by the green wheel. 

Zeta kept giving orders, trying to rally the forces inside. But she was just reacting on instinct, doing what her training had taught her to do. This facility was lost - she was certain of that. They were doomed to failure without their psychics in the battle and retreat was impossible with the Gate in enemy hands. With victory and retreat impossible, the only question was how much pain Zeta could inflict on the invaders before defeat. If she couldn't beat them back she could at least frustrate their plan - if she ordered a Code Red immediately the security guards would have enough time to eliminate every Subject in the building before they could be rescued. 

She brought the radio to her helmet when she her armor blared a warning, that someone was standing right behind her. She lashed out, her suit accelerating her reflexes and was stunned to see her fist pass straight through the person behind her. She caught a glimpse of green and red before the figure punched her helmet, knocking her into the monitors behind her. The monitors sparked and crackled as another hammering blow bashed Zeta's helmet, cracking the face-plate. She could see the attacker now, a muscular green humanoid with red eyes, wearing a blue cape. 

She punched out, her hand sinking through the alien's chest again as if he were made of thin air. He retaliated with another tremendous blow to her helmet, breaking a piece of the face-plate off. Zeta felt woozy and her vision blurred, as she slowly sank to the floor. The alien stretched his hand out towards Zeta's helmet and Zeta braced for another blow. Instead of another punch, he placed his hand on her helmet and looked her straight in the eyes, his red eyes blazing like the sun. 

SLEEP

Zeta felt the mental command pressing into her mind, overwhelming the mental protections the psychics had implanted when she had first started working as an LDE member. She fought against the intrusion, using the techniques she had been trained with. It was a losing struggle and she felt blackness creeping up. 

SLEEP

Zeta finally passed out with a sigh and slid unconscious to the floor. The figure took a moment to examine the monitors still intact, checking on the progress of the invasion. The immense door to the Gate Room had been breached, a twisted, gaping hole pushing out from inside the room. Resistance outside the building appeared to be defeated and inside the enemy was shocked and disorganized, uncertain how to proceed with no central leader giving orders. He paused at what he saw on one monitor. His eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw in anger. He smashed the controls in the monitor room, along with the hand-held radio Zeta had been using. That done he concentrated and his body's mass shifted, becoming intangible, and he sank through the floor.

_________________________________________________________

Zeta's commands came over the intercom system while the hostess was cleaning Wonder Woman's face after the last client had finished with her mouth, ordering all clients to leave and all Subjects back to their cells. 

"What's going on? What should I do?" the client asked. He had just buttoned his pants when the orders were heard and was still inside the room.

"We're not supposed to move Wonder Woman without a security escort, so I guess you could stay here till it arrives," the hostess answered. She was nervous; only a dire emergency would warrant a total lock-down, with all the loss of revenue that would come from kicking out the clients for the day. Whatever the reason, she knew the lock-down could only be bad news for her, one way or the other.

The hostess and client talked during the wait, while Wonder Woman was left strapped inside the machine that had been used to force her mouth to move back-and-forth on the clients' penises. The machine had been a last resort, the final torture the Sex Arcade had fallen back on when all other brutal measures had failed to break Wonder Woman's spirit. 

It had worked. 

Wonder Woman had finally given up fighting and had decided to co-operate. Only to find her captors didn't care. She had been forced to service another fifteen clients after she had begged the hostess for mercy. Wonder Woman had faced enemies with powers and abilities that were beyond description. She had gone into battle without hesitation and fear against foes powerful enough to destroy worlds, with her only concern being for the people she fought to protect. But nothing she had faced could have prepared her for the brutality and degradation that was inflicted on her in this place. 

Wonder Woman closed her eyes. Her head would have fell, but it was held fast by the infernal machine behind her. She had gone from an Amazonian warrior to a worthless sex-toy. Gone from yelling battle-cries while punishing her foes, to begging to be raped on a table instead of strapped to a machine. She would never forget this shame for the rest of her immortal existence. 

"You know, I think I got enough time for another quickie from the princess here," the client said. Wonder Woman sobbed. The client smiled while looking at the naked and helpless hero. "What do you think?" he asked the hostess.

"Sir, we should wait till Security gets here, it will only be another minute -"

The conversation was interrupted when the door to the room opened and another hostess walked in. Walking right behind her was a tall, black man dressed in blue slacks and a green polo shirt. The man held the hostess in a tight grip, with his right hand on the back of her neck. The hostess looked pained and cried while grasping the hand holding her with both of her hands.

"Please, you're hurting me -" the hostess pleaded.

"Be quiet or I will hurt you even more," the man hissed. 

The client in the room looked at the duo that had just entered with his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You know . . . I guess there's time for a quickie if you want one, bro." He gestured towards where Wonder Woman was bound, the gag in her mouth causing drool to drip down onto her breasts. "She's a little messy but it's still a pretty good blowjob, all things conside-." 

The client suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his body and face relaxing - except for his eyes, which gaped wide with terror. He calmly walked over to one of the concrete walls of the room and carefully bent forward till his forehead rested on the wall. In one even motion he bent back and then slammed his forehead against the wall with a hollow knocking sound. He bent back and slammed his head again. And another time. Blood began flowing down his face and the spot on the wall where he was bashing his head. He slammed his head three more times against the wall before his body began to tremble, his legs and arms shaking. He bashed his head one more time and then slowly slid his bloody face down the wall while he violently seizured. He ended up in a heap on the floor, where he seizured for several more seconds and then lay perfectly still. 

The two hostesses looked on the violent scene with their eyes wide with horror. "Oh, sweet fucking Jesus, what just happened?" the hostess not held by the black man asked. She had her hands pressed against her mouth and her face had gone pale. 

The man released the hostess he was holding with a shove. He pointed at Wonder Woman. "Release her from that machine or you will both be joining him on that wall." As he spoke, his form changed, his body and features flowing and shifting until a green humanoid with a blue cape and red eyes was standing in front of the two terrified hostesses. 

They quickly hurried to free Wonder Woman. When she had been released from the machine, Wonder Woman leaned forward with a gasp of pain and caught herself with her arms. Her legs and arms were painfully cramped after being held in place for too long. She struggled to stand up. A hostess moved to help her when the green figure hissed at her to stop.

"Do not touch her, ever again. Stand against that wall and do not move or make a sound till I tell you to," the figure pointed at the wall behind the hostesses as he gave them commands.

"Please, mister, we were just doing our jobs. We're not from this world, we don't have any choice in what we do. They don't let us leave this place, you gotta believe us," a hostess said.

"That's right, we were just doing what we were told," the other hostess said, her head nodding in terrified agreement. "We never touched her like the clients did. Swear to God we didn't"

"That is a complete lie," Wonder Woman said. She was now kneeling while she stretched her aching arm muscles. "Both of them have . . . been with me. More than once. They even forced me to service them both for an entire weekend!" 

"If either of you place any value in the sanctity of your jaw bones and tongues, you will stand against that wall and be quiet," the figure snapped at the hostesses. He stepped forward, while removing the cape from his shoulders. He wrapped it around Wonder Woman and bent down to her. "I have you, Diana." He picked her up and cradled her in his arms. 

"Is that really you, J'onn J'onzz? Or is this another trick from those damned psychics?" Wonder Woman stroked the side of her rescuer's face, trying to convince herself he was real. 

"I am real, Diana. The psychics have been neutralized. They no longer have the ability to affect someone's mind. Most of them are likely dead."

"Then why are my powers not back? I can not fly and I have no more strength then those two wretches." Wonder Woman pointed at the hostess. "And what are you going to do about them?"

"The psychics have placed mental blocks inside your mind that keep you from using your full abilities, Diana. Those blocks will fade over time, or I can remove them when I have the time to do so. Right now, I must move you to a place of safety, then help secure the rest of this facility." He looked at where the two terrified hostesses cowered against the wall. "As for these two . . ." He concentrated a moment, then spoke. "Sleep." The two women slid the floor, unconscious. "Now we go."

"Wait, J'onn. I can walk now. You can put me down."

"Rest, Diana. I have you." 

"What about him?" Wonder Woman pointed at the man laying on the floor.

"He may be dead. Or he may not be. Either way, his fate is of no concern to me. Now, rest Diana. I can tell just by looking you are barely awake. You are safe now; I will watch over you." 

Wonder Woman felt exhaustion pressing down on her. Her captors had disrupted her sleep, using harsh noises, blinking lights and other means, to deprive her of desperately needed rest. She had no clock or other means of keeping time in her cell - another tactic to keep her disoriented - but she guessed she had not slept for longer than two hours straight in weeks. She leaned her head against her rescuer's shoulder with a sigh and closed her eyes. Sleep swallowed her immediately.


	7. Last Gamble

The woman shifted with a groan, her body a mass of aches and pains. She was bewildered and dizzy, her thoughts a scattered mess. She shifted her body again and felt something was pinning her legs down. She pried her eyes open and hissed at the light she saw, her head aching. She tried to think, tried to make sense of where she was and what was happening, but her thoughts were too scattered and incoherent. 

'What's my name?' she thought to herself.

There was no answer.

She lay there, pinned down, with her eyes squinting at the harsh light for a few seconds, before deciding if she wanted answers, she'd have to figure them out for herself. She looked down at her legs and saw a dresser lying on top of them. She pushed at the dresser, groaning with effort. It slid down her legs, which throbbed with enough pain to make the woman light-headed. She stopped and gasped for breath. Her thoughts were sliding into order, sorthing themselves out like soldiers on a parade ground. 

'I'm a soldier,' she realized, 'and I'm in someone's bedroom.' Her name still eluded her. 'No, not a soldier - a marine.'

She gave another push at the dresser and twisted her legs out from underneath it. She gasped from the pain and grabbed her ankles. She squeezed for a moment till the throbbing pain subsided a little, then slowly moved her feet in circles, checking for broken bones. They hurt to move - a lot - but there didn't seem to be anything broken. She stood up with a groan and looked around at the shattered mess of a room she was standing in. A hole had been blasted into the concrete wall across from her by an explosion in the hallway outside. She tried to think why she was in a room that had just been hit by a bomb. She heard noises then, sharp echos coming from somewhere outside the blasted wall. Gunfire.

'I'm in a room hit by a bomb and with someone shooting at something outside. Where am I?' It all came back to her in a rush, her thoughts finally assembled and snapping to attention. 'I'm in a VIP suite at the Sex Arcade.' Her hand grabbed the tight metal collar squeezing her throat, the same hated collar she'd been forced to wear ever since she'd been kidnapped. 'My name is -'

"Shepard."

It took Shepard a second to realize her name had been spoken aloud, and she had not simply thought it. She heard it again and turned to look at the woman who had called to her. "Liara! Oh, thank God you're all right. And Miranda." Shepard limped as fast as she could to the two women. Liara and Shepard hugged each other, tightly. "Are either of you hurt?"

Miranda had blood streaming from a cut just above her right eyebrow and cradled her left hand against her chest. "I think my hand and wrist are broken," she said, her voice tight with pain. 

Shepard gently took Miranda's injured appendage in her own hands and carefully examined it. Mirand hissed softly as Shepard gingerly moved her thumb to see it more clearly. Miranda's hand was swelling up at the base of her thumb and her wrist looked inflamed as well. Shepard looked around and found a small rag lying on the floor. She folded it up into a cylinder and gently placed it in Miranda's injured hand.

"Just fold your fingers around this and hold your hand against your chest," she told Miranda. "Keep the hand above your heart. I'll find something to make a sling for that arm. How are you doing, Liara?"

Liara had a bruise on her face, her right eye beginning to swell shut, but otherwise looked unharmed. "I am all right, beloved." Liara gently stroked Shepard's face. "Do you have any injuries?"

"No, nothing serious," Shepard answered. "I think I sprained both my ankles and my knees hurt like hell too, but I can still walk on them." Shepard found a t-shirt and began tearing it into strips and then tied them together to be used as a sling for Miranda. After securing Miranda's arm, Shepard gave a start when she suddenly remembered there should be a fourth person in the room with them. "Where's John?" 

The trio had no chance to look when they heard a voice yelling from the hallway. "This is the Federal Bureau of Investigations, speaking to anyone inside the room. You are ordered to exit the room with your hands held above your head. You are being detained by order of the United States Attorney General. You will not be harmed if you surrender."

"How do we know they're good guys?" Miranda asked. 

"I don't know." Shepard replied. She grabbed Liara's hand and put her arm around Miranda's shoulders and led them into the living room. "You two hide here, in the closet. I'll deal with these people outside and let you know if it's safe."

"Shepard, please -"

Shepard cut off any further protests from Liara. "I can handle this, Liara. I'm a marine; I take risks to protect other people."

"Goddess protect you, Shepard." Liara kissed her, forcefully. 

Shepard let the kiss linger for a second then pushed her away. "I love you." She turned and ran back to the bedroom. "I'm coming out, don't shoot!" Shepard yelled outside. She stopped for a moment, still feeling Liara's lips pressed against her own. She kept that memory in her mind and stepped out into the hallway.

She saw a body lying on the floor, clad in a suit of white armor. The body's left arm was just a stump, ragged flesh and bone where the elbow should be. The left side of the body's helmet was caved in as well, obviously damaged by the same explosion that took the person's arm off. Shepard pieced together what had happened. The person in the white armor - which she recognized as the same armor worn by the soldiers that had captured her - must have been throwing a grenade or other explosive device. Somehow, through mechanical failure or good marksmanship on her rescuers part, the device had exploded in the person's hand, killing them and causing the blast that had injured Shepard and her friends. 

Shepard saw two soldiers in camouflage uniforms with FBI printed on their chests leaning out from an intersection up ahead. She recognized the M4 assault rifle one of them was holding with more than a little surprise. She'd only seen pictures of that weapon in history books and didn't understand why it was being used now. But old or not, the weapon was still lethal. "I'm unarmed." She wiggled the hands she was holding above her head.

"Just keep walking towards us, ma'am. Nice and steady." The soldier who had spoken dropped his weapon and gestured with his hand. "We're with the FBI and we're here to get you out of here."

"Thank you. Thank all of you." Shepard fought back a sob as a rush of emotions hit her. The rescue was real. After all the horror and abuse of the years she'd been held captive she'd never really believed she'd make it out of this place alive. She brought herself under control with an angry effort. She could bawl her little eyes out later, when her friends were safe. "Please, I have two more friends in the room. I'll get them out here."

Shepard yelled at Miranda and Liara that it was safe to come out. The trio walked towards the group of soldiers at the end of the hallway. The soldiers gently led them away and had them sit on the floor near a hole that had been blasted into the wall, leading outside. 

"Ladies, I'm going to ask you to please stay here while we arrange transport for you all out of here. We'll have someone take a look at that hand," the soldier pointed at Miranda's injured arm. 

A medic gently took Miranda's hand in his own, examining it. "I think the wrist is only sprained, but you definitely have a fractured metacarpal." The medic properly splinted Miranda's hand and gave her a new sling to wear. He pressed an ice pack on her hand. "Just alternate holding that twenty minutes on and twenty minutes off. You'll be in a proper hospital before that ice pack gets warm." He squeezed her shoulder and injected her with a pain-killer. "You're going to be fine. We'll have you and your friends out of here in just a minute." He checked on Shepard's and Liara's injuries, then gave them pills to help with their pain. He then moved to help wounded soldiers being brought to the exit hole in preparation for evacuation. 

"Shepard, look there. They have John on a stretcher!" Liara pointed.

Shepard saw it was their erstwhile rescuer being carried by two soldiers on a stretcher, wearing a neck brace. His face was badly bruised and he had blood stains below his nostrils. He also had splints on both legs and a tube in his arm leading to an IV bag held by one of the soldiers carrying his stretcher. 

"Stay here with Miranda." Shepard told Liara then walked over to John. "John, can you hear me?"

"He's unconscious, ma'am." The soldier holding the IV bag replied. "We found him lying underneath a dresser in the room back there. An explosion hit him pretty bad; we have to get him out of here fast if he's going to make it."

Shepard gently squeezed John's hand. "I might not get another chance to say this . . . thank you, John. Please make it through this. My friends and I owe you too much to see you die now, right before we leave this place for good." She carefully placed his hand on his chest and walked back to Liara and Miranda. 

Shepard saw something being carried by a soldier walking by. "Wait, please, sir. I need your help with something." The soldier looked at her. "I need that thing you're carrying."

He handed her the bolt-cutters he was holding. "Just give those to another soldier when you're done with them, ma'am." 

Shortly after, the rumble of an approaching vehicle was heard through the exit in the wall. Shepard peaked out and saw a multi-wheeled armor vehicle she didn't recognize backing up. It stopped just short of hitting the wall and lowered a ramp with a squeal of hydraulics. John was taken out along with an another injured soldier on a stretcher. Both were loaded into the vehicle, which closed the ramp and quickly drove off. 

"You three ladies are up next. Transport will be here in a second, so get ready."

Shepard spoke to Miranda, while brandishing the bolt-cutters. "Allow me to do the honors, Miranda." Miranda turned around and Shepard quickly snapped the padlock securing the metal collar around Miranda's neck, then did the same for Liara. Liara then cut Shepard's collar free. 

The heavy metal collars hit the floor with a thud as the three escaped captives tossed them away. Shepard rubbed her neck with both hands; the collars had deliberately been made tight and heavy, and the sudden lack of weight around her throat made her dizzy. She'd hated that collar more than anything she'd ever hated in her life. It had been locked around her neck shortly after she'd been brought to the Sex Arcade and in the years since had rarely been removed. The collar had represented her lowly status as a slave, a thing, to be used for someone else's pleasures. She fought back another surge of emotions, trying to hold in the tears and sobs that wanted to escape. She was a marine, dammit. Now was not the time for this nonsense.

Liara sensed Shepard's emotions and hugged her from behind. Tears left trails down Liara's cheeks as she said, "We're almost free, Shepard. We can get back to our lives soon. Can you feel liberation coming?"

Shepard couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She sobbed and spoke, "I failed you, Liara. I failed both of you. I'm the Commander here, the ranking officer. It was my duty to get you two out of here but I couldn't figure out how. I wasn't smart enough, I wasn't strong enough . . . I failed as a leader and as a friend. I don't deserve to be an officer any-"

Miranda grabbed Shepard's hand. "You didn't fail, Shepard. You did what you had to do to protect your friends. No-one can fault you for that."

One of the FBI soldiers yelled at the trio, "Ok, ride's here. Time to roll on out of here, ladies. Compliments of the Third Stryker Brigade Combat Team. Let's get a move on."

Liara took Shepard's right hand and Miranda took her left and both led her towards the exit, where the sound of a heavy diesel engine could be heard idling.   
"We're almost out of here, Shepard. What's the first thing you want to do when we get home?" Liara asked.

Shepard brought herself under control and let go of Liara's hand to wipe her eyes. "First thing I want to do is crawl into a proper bed and sleep." The wave of guilt had passed by. For now. Shepard knew she'd be dealing with what had happened for the rest of her life, but she felt good knowing her friends were about to leave this wretched place for good. The trio stepped outside, two soldiers flanking them as they walked towards the waiting armored vehicle. A Stryker, was the name the soldier had called it. 

There was a sudden squeal of noise from the vehicle, as a voice began shouting over a radio. Shepard saw one of the soldiers walking with her put his hand to the radio bud in his ear. A remote-controlled turret on the Stryker ahead suddenly slew to the left and opened fire, the big .50cal machine-gun on top chugging out tracer rounds as it shot at an unseen target. The voice on the radio was panicked - too distorted to make out but the tone of its voice clear. There was a sudden WOOMP as another Stryker fired, this one equipped with a 105mm cannon. It followed up with a long burst of 7.62mm from its co-axial machine gun. 

The soldiers escorting the trio suddenly grabbed them and yelled, "Back inside, back inside, now, now, now, we are under attack out here -"

An explosion pierced the air, crackling like thunder, right above Shepard's head. She looked up to see a Blackhawk helicopter - she recognized it from military-history books she'd read during officer training - tumbling out of the air with its tail shot off. It crashed frighteningly close, its main rotor still turning as it fell over and began to dig gouges into the ground. Shepard saw the main body of the Blackhawk turn a complete circle on the ground before its rotor stopped moving, then she was back inside the building. 

As the FBI soldiers hustled Shepard and her friends somewhere ostensibly safe, the battle outside raged. The Stryker with the 105mm cannon accelerated and moved forward, firing bursts with its co-ax. It stopped and fired another round from its main gun, then stunningly exploded. The cannon on top was flung into the air as a round impacted the front of the Stryker, traveled the full length of the vehicle and violently exited the back, scattering pieces of engine and crewmen on the ground a hundred meters away.  
_________________________________________________________  
Gamma sighted in as an LDE member stood behind her ready to load another round into her weapon's breech. Gamma had been a part of the Quick-Reaction-Force located a half-mile from the Sex Arcade's Nevada site main building. She and the other seven LDE members had been waiting in full armor as part of their normal shift. When the alert had come and the invading force had been spotted, Gamma had ordered her team to activate their stealth fields and slip away into the desert. The non-LDE soldiers on the QRF, all thirty of them, had surrendered without a fight when they saw the size of the invading force. 

Gamma had discussed options with her team. With their stealth fields activated the LDE armor was invisible to any technology available on this planet - when motionless, at least. The armor could be spotted at close ranges while moving, even when stealthed. And the field sucked away most of the armor's power, so shields and most of their sensors would be inoperable. Even with those caveats, the armor was more advanced - and lethal - than anything else on the planet. Gamma and her cohorts would easily be able to slip away undetected. 

The problem was what came next. None of Gamma's team, Gamma included, were from this world. It was a deliberate policy to recruit employees from different dimensions than where the Sex Arcade was based, to minimize the chances of defection.

Fat lot of good that had turned out to be. 

But as a consequence, the hidden QRF members had no contacts or friends on this world and no place else to go. If they left the Nevada facility they'd be fugitives, able to hide only as long as their armor still had power. Gamma had discussed it and they had all decided on a last-ditch push to blast a way through the invaders' perimeter, make it to the portal room, and escape to the secure facility and its Mass Quantic Gate. It was a desperate gamble, but it was the only option they had left.

Weighing the odds in their favor were the two heavy weapons they had carried with them when escaping the guard building. Gamma and another LDE member were armed with portable rail-guns, built on a different planet with technology more advanced than anything available on this primitive world. The railguns looked like oversized rifles, with barrels two meters long. There was a bi-pod at the front for stability and a butt-stock the operator leaned their shoulder against when firing. A pistol-grip with a gun-like trigger was used to fire the weapon. The operator carried a bulky generator for the railgun in a back-pack connected to the weapon with a power cable. The weapon was single-shot, with rounds loaded in the breech. The rounds themselves were teardrop shaped, 90mm in diameter, with regular steel covering a tungsten core and fins on the back to provide stability in flight. 

Gamma's team had infiltrated to one thousand meters from the building they were looking to enter. They could have gone closer but Gamma wanted to position the rail-guns where they could fire on as many vehicles as possible. Her team only had eight rounds for each railgun, so every shot would have to count. She picked one of the aircraft circling above as her first target. Her helmet was linked with the railgun and providing targeting information, but it wasn't needed. The rounds traveled at three thousand meters a second; she just had to aim center mass and the round would impact in a fraction of a second, long before the target had time to move far.

At her signal Gamma's team dropped their stealth fields and began to engage. The invaders began to return fire almost immediately, to Gamma's dismay. She had been hoping to catch them off-guard. Heavy projectiles began tearing up the dirt around her as she lined up her crosshairs and depressed the trigger. Her railgun fired with a harsh crack as the round went supersonic exiting the barrel. 

Gamma's teammate slammed another round into her weapon and yelled "Up."

Gamma watched the aircraft she had targeted crash to the ground in two pieces and was suddenly blinded by dirt kicked up by an explosive round impacting just meters to her side. She heard a short scream and saw one of the indicators on her HUD wink out. A teammate had just died. 

The dirt and smoke cleared as she sighted in on the cannon-armed vehicle that had just killed her friend. She fired and felt grim satisfaction as the vehicle exploded under her crosshairs. She searched for more targets as her teammate reloaded the railgun. She placed her crosshairs on another vehicle and was about to fire, when a heavy machine-gun round impacted her armor. Sparks flew as the round squashed itself against her shields and threw her aim off, the railgun round flying meters above Gamma's intended target. 

She ducked down and retreated into a small depression that was just low enough to put her beneath the enemies' line of sight. Her teammate reloaded the railgun and followed Gamma as she moved several meters west. Gamma popped up to ground level and sighted her railgun in on another target. She squeezed the trigger and saw a fury of sparks fly from the target as the round impacted. She had hit one of the Stryker vehicles on the side as it sat perpendicular to her. The round penetrated one side of the Stryker and exited the other, hardly losing any velocity in the process. 

Gamma cursed at her luck. The railgun had been made for penetration of vehicles with far thicker armor; the rounds went through her current, thin-skinned, targets with ease. She thought she might have to waste another precious round, when she saw crewmen bail out of the vehicle just hit as smoke brewed up from the hatches.   
She had no time to find another target as more heavy machine-gun rounds kicked up clods of dirt around her. She ducked down, trying to press herself into the ground as more and more hits drained her shields. Gamma began to crawl towards cover when a 105mm round impacted directly on her railgun. The railgun disintegrated in a fireball of shrapnel and explosives, taking her hands along with it, as her shields gave out with a pop of electricity. She was tossed through the air and hit the ground with the snapping sound of breaking bones. 

Gamma lay dazed on her back, staring up at the sky. Icons splashed across her HUD warning of blood loss and impending shock. She felt no pain, however, as her armor injected pain-killers and worked to stem the bleeding. She saw six of the eight symbols representing her team glowing red, meaning they were dead or severely injured. A helicopter flew low above her and Gamma saw a Gatling gun spewing a torrent of tracers at a target below. The last two team-member icons switched from green to red. 

The battle was over. 

The desperate gamble had failed even quicker and more violently than Gamma had feared it would. The enemy had been waiting for them - they must have been warned of the LDE teams abilities and they were trained to neutralize them. She saw the outside world began to lose colors, fading to a dull gray. Blackness crowded her field of vision, creeping in until the outside world was just a dot of light. She tried to raise her left arm, reaching towards the light. There was no left arm for her to move, anymore. 

Blackness was total.

Then nothing.


	8. Mine's Bigger

The scene with Catwoman played out on the display in front of Greg Donovan.  The man holding the jagged piece of glass at the naked Catwoman's throat slowly inched by the FBI troops.  He moved with his back pressed up against the wall behind him, while the FBI soldiers kept their weapons leveled.  
  
"You motherfuckers stay back, or I'm gonna stick this right in her throat.  I swear I will, don't you fucking think I won't," the hostage-taker, whose name was Mongo, threatened.  His voice was high-pitched and he was breathless from an adrenaline surge.  Sweat was pouring down his face and stinging his eyes, but he couldn't free a hand to wipe it away.   
  
Donovan was in a small armory watching the scene on a laptop hooked into the building's security cameras.  After fleeing from the FBI troops blocking his path, Donovan had run into a group of armed guards, all of them female like most of the Sex Arcade's employees.  They'd pointed their weapons at him and, from the looks they gave him, were not happy to see him.  Only by hastily promising to take the lead position while the group was moving had he avoided being shot.  The group had started with six guards and Donovan bringing the total up to seven.   
  
It had grown as they moved, picking up other employees, until the group now had fifteen in total; eight guards, Donovan, and six hostesses.  There had been brief bursts of gunfire as they had encountered FBI troops along the way.  The invaders had been unwilling to engage in a heavy gun-battle while they were located deep inside the building, for fear of any Subjects or other innocents being hurt.  This had allowed the group of would-be escapees to inch their way towards the portal room, which was their only hope of exiting the facility.  

  
They were now all holed up in an armory just a few dozen yards from their destination, but unable to proceed any further.  Most of the equipment had already been cleared out by other guards at the start of the invasion, but a few weapons had been left and Donovan had taken an M-9 Beretta as his weapon.  He'd found a belt and holster for it and three full magazines.  After arming himself, one of the guards had tapped into the security system and told Donovan to look for a way out, while the other guards stood watch.   
  
He'd skimmed through every camera in the building and nothing he saw made him happy about his chances.  The FBI were everywhere in the building, including the portal room, and whatever resistance they still faced was now pinned down.  This included Donovan's group, which was blockaded in their room.  From what he saw, there were dozens of troops between his group and the portal room and their chances of fighting through them were slim.   
  
The leader of the guards, a white woman with brown hair and sergeant chevrons on her vest, walked over to see what Donovan had discovered.   
  
"How do we get out of here?"  
  
"There is no way we're fighting our way through the troops between us and the portal room.  I doubt we can even fight our way out of this room," Donovan replied.  
  
"We don't have a choice.  We get out or . . . well, who fucking knows what these people will do."  
  
"Those have to be the FBI's Hostage Rescue Teams, so I doubt they'll execute us.  Not right away," Donovan muttered the last part.  "We're destined for prison for a long time to come.  Maybe for the rest of our lives."   
  
The guard sergeant squeezed the grip of her MP-5K.  "I wasn't born here; none of us are from this world.  I'm not going to spend the rest of my life locked away on this shithole planet.  We need to come up with a plan."  
  
Donovan glanced at the six hostesses in the group, huddled fearfully together in the corner.  All six wore the revealing outfits that were standard for them while on-duty.  The display of skin and cleavage stood out in stark contrast to the combat gear the female guards wore.  None of the hostesses had any training or experience with firearms and they were all unarmed.  The guards had been angry the hostesses weren't going to be of use in a fight.   
  
Donovan kept looking at the hostesses, as a plan began to form in his mind.  They all knew him - and the things he had done - and tried to ignore his gaze, except for quick, nervous, glances in his direction.  Donovan realized the fear he saw in the hostesses was exactly the same he had seen in the Subjects.  The new Subjects, at least; after a certain period of time the Subjects no longer displayed much emotion.  Even fear was mercilessly ground out of them by the constant abuse, until there was nothing left of their soul.   
  
A plan to get past the FBI solidified and he bent down to whisper in the guard sergeant's ear.  When he was done talking, the sergeant looked at him for a moment and then looked at the hostesses, her brow furrowed as she thought.  She gave a nod to Donovan and moved to talk with the other guards.   
  
The hostesses knew they had just been talked about.  One of them, a petite redhead with pale skin and freckles, asked with an Irish accent, "What were you two gabbing about?"  She hugged herself, nervously, her arms tightly clasped over her breasts.  
  
Donovan smiled.  "I got a plan to get past the FBI."  The Irish hostess shuddered at his smile.   "You and your friends are going to play the central part."  
  
It was good that the hostesses were unarmed, after-all.   
  
As the guards moved in and began arranging the hostesses for their part in the escape attempt, Donovan looked back at his laptop, and saw the man holding Catwoman hostage had been blocked from moving further. He now stood with his back pressed against a wall, with a semi-circle of FBI troops pointing their weapons at his face.   
  
The hostess that had accompanied Mongo and Catwoman out of the room where Catwoman had been tortured had already surrendered to the FBI.  She lay on the floor, crying, her hands zip-tied behind her.  
  
Mongo tried to duck down again, but he was just too tall and Catwoman was too short for him to hide behind.  The top half of his head was left peeking over Catwoman's right shoulder.  His breathing was labored and his face was drenched with sweat, as adrenaline roared through his veins, pushed by his madly pumping heart.   
  
"I will gut her like a fish, I'm fucking warning you.  Let me through or I open up her veins, pigs.  She'll bleed out before you can even fucking blink."  The jagged shard of glass in Mongo's hand pressed into Catwoman's throat.  Blood trickled from the point, adding to the red lines already running down the terrified hostage's neck.  Catwoman stood with her head tilted back, eyes closed, with her shackled hands clasped in front of her.   
  
One of the FBI agents kept his weapon steady on his target.  He was armed with an MP-5, a sub-machine gun that was a favorite of special forces units worldwide.  The agent had trained with the weapon exhaustively, until it moved like an extension of his body.  The training kicked in and the world faded away, until the agent was aware of nothing but his target, his weapon and the hostage.  This was what he had trained for, day after day, what he lived for, what he had sacrificed and sweated and sometimes bled for.   He'd spent thousands of hours of his life training for this exact scenario.  The FBI's Hostage Rescue Teams prided themselves on being the best counter-terrorism unit in the country and the world.   
  
It was time to prove it.   
  
The agent waited, patiently, the tip of his index finger lightly resting on the trigger.  He only needed a moment, a tiny opening.  The hostage-taker kept yelling at the agents, threatening the victim.  One of the agents answered back, trying to negotiate.  It was obvious the hostage-taker was psyching himself up - the man knew the moment he killed the hostage, he himself would die.  Seconds ticked by, agonizingly slow.  The standoff continued.  

  
Then it happened.  The hostage-taker moved the glass in his hand to point in the direction he wanted to go - not much, just a few inches, but for a crucial second it was away from the hostage's throat.   
  
The agent fired.  The bullet left the MP-5, entered the bottom of Mongo's right eye, traveled slightly downward  and exited at the base of his skull.  It left two holes in the process; 9mm in the front and much bigger in the back.  Mongo dropped as his voluntary muscle control was lost.  His brain kept sending random electrical impulses to his body but the connection between brain and spine had been severed.  The deadly glass shard that had been pressed against Catwoman's throat hit the floor and shattered, harmlessly.   
  
The FBI agents swarmed in and grabbed the stunned hostage and hustled her away before she could see the dead man behind her.  One of them threw a blanket across her shoulders, while another checked her for injuries.   
  
"Ma'am, everything is going to be OK.  We're going to get those shackles off and find you some clothing, then we're going to get you out of here.  OK?"

  
Catwoman wrapped the blanket around her as best she could with her hands still locked.  "I'm free?"  Her eyes were dazed.  
  
"Yes, ma'am.  Everyone here is free now."  
  
Donovan saw the bloody end to the hostage drama play out on his laptop.  It struck him then, with crystal clarity.  He wasn't making it out of the building.  The guards he had seen in the building had seemed well-equipped and decently trained - surprising given the nature of the business.  He'd never heard of what was basically an organized-crime group to have the level of discipline and organization that the Sex Arcade displayed.  But none of that compared to the soldiers they were facing.   
  
The FBI must have been training to take this building down for weeks or months, Donovan realized.  They'd known where the portal room was and what it did.  The group he was with would never make it there, not even with the plan he had come up with.  He looked at the six hostesses who were now ready to play their parts.  
  
The hostesses had been divided into groups of three, there hands secured behind them - the building had restraints of every imaginable type in nearly every room - then tied together in a line with a rope running from the neck of one hostess to the others.  One group of hostesses would move in front of the group and the other behind.  Donovan had hoped the FBI troops would be unwilling to risk hitting the unarmed hostesses, while the guards would be free to fire at will.  
   
He looked at the dead man lying in the pool of his blood on the screen in front of him.  The plan wasn't going to work.  Not against these guys.  It finally hit him, the realization pressing down like a physical weight.  There was no escape from this; no way out.  Donovan drew his pistol and turned it in his hand, looking and thinking.  This how his life would end?

   
One of the guards yelled at him, "We're ready to go.  Let's do this, before we lose our nerve."  Donovan ignored her, still staring at his pistol.  He'd be committing suicide, here, today.  The question was whether he did it himself or let one of the FBI troops do it for him?  He made up his mind and stood up.  If he had to die, he'd take someone down with him.  
   
"Let's do this, ladies," Donovan said.  No-one else in the group answered him.  None of them said anything and he realized they weren't moving either.  Everyone, guards and hostesses, stood staring blankly at nothing, not moving or talking.  "Hey, what are you all doing?"  Donovan went over and shook one of the guards by the shoulder.  "What the fuck are you all doing?"  She gave no response.    
  
_Time for a little one-on-one, Greg._  
  
Donovan spun around and aimed at the figure that had just appeared in the middle of the room behind him.  No-one had been standing there a second ago and the only way into the room was past everyone else in the group.  Sneaking in was impossible.  At least, it should have been impossible.   
  
The figure wore the familiar white armor of the LDE teams, except for the helmet, which was pinned beneath her left arm.  Donovan saw the face and yelled, "Omega!" before firing his pistol in her face.  Trying to fire it.  He had the sights lined up right on her face and his finger on the trigger, but he couldn't squeeze it.  He concentrated, grunting with effort, his face turning red, then an even brighter red.  His hand trembled and he panted from the strain.  He couldn't get his finger to squeeze the trigger.  
  
Omega smiled at him.  She raised the energy rifle she held in her right arm, white-colored and sleek like her power-armor.  She steadied it on his face.  
  
_Mine's bigger._  
  
She fired and the world went black.  


	9. Revalations

Six Months Ago  
Gotham City  
  
Huntress crouched down at the edge of the roof, scanning the nighttime streets below with her binoculars.  Given to her by the Justice League, the binoculars incorporated night-vision, thermal, active infrared, and other more advanced capabilities.  They also were hooked into a global satellite network run by the League that could be used to relay messages, send video and photos, and be used as a beacon to locate Huntress in an emergency.  
  
"Basically, you've recreated the smart phone in a less convenient package and for a much higher price," Huntress had told Batman when he gave her the binoculars.    
  
He had not been amused, but then nothing seemed to amuse him.  "Don't lose them.  There are organizations that would literally kill to have the technology used in those binoculars."  
  
Despite her sarcasm, she'd understood the League had a very good reason for running it's own global communications network.  Security for one, since the League had access to technology that could secure its systems from any Earth-based adversary.  And there were those other advanced capabilities the binocs possessed, the ones Batman had told her to use only in an emergency situation.    
  
This counted as an emergency in her mind and she didn't give a damn what anyone else thought.   
   
Huntress pressed a button and the green glow of the night-vision setting was replaced by the eerie white outlines of the x-ray setting.  Batman had told her this setting could duplicate Superman's x-ray vision, to an extent.  But at the cost of rapid power usage and heat build-up.  She'd only have a minute before she'd have to shut the binocs down and let them recharge.    
  
The last few weeks had been an endless series of frustrating searches, following up every possible lead and scrap of evidence the League could find.  Realization had been slow in coming.  Understandable, perhaps, given the vast number of threats and dangers the Justice League had to handle on a daily basis.  But still inexcusable.  
  
Disappearances had been taking place for years, with comrades and team-members vanishing without a trace.  Unfortunately for the missing, the number of potential suspects was vast and varied; a panoply of villains, organizations and governments who would have both the resources and the motives to abduct a Leaguer.  Searches had turned up nothing.  Frustration had set in, but no evidence was found to indicate where the missing had gone.  Every possible method was used to look; magic, science, super-powered senses and plain old detective work were all employed.  All organizations friendly to the League were asked for help, whether they be terrestrial, alien, extra-dimensional and some from even more exotic or bizarre sources.  Nothing was found to indicate where the missing Leaguer's were.  Some argued that all of the missing were dead, which would explain how the more powerful search methods were unable to find them.  But all agreed the search had to continue till the fate of the missing was discovered, whatever that might be.    
  
The fact that all the abductees were female was impossible not to notice, but most were afraid to point this out for fear of the implications.    
  
Huntress had been just as concerned as anyone about the missing team-members, but none of them had been close personal friends.  Huntress felt a little guilty for it, but that fact had kept the worst of the fear at bay.  All that changed two weeks ago when Black Canary never returned from a mission in Gotham.    
  
Canary had been one of the few friends Huntress had in the world.  One of the small number of people willing to trust the daughter of a mobster trying to make it on the side of law and order.  She wasn't one prone to being emotional, but she knew never finding Canary would scar her as badly as the death of Huntress' own family.  She had to find Canary, no matter what it took.   
  
Huntress felt the binocs warming up in her hand as the new mode kicked in.  The building across the street was now transparent, the walls and roof disappearing under the binoc's technological wizardry.  She hurriedly scanned the small two-story building from top to bottom but there was no-one and nothing of interest inside.  Huntress kept looking, while her hands grew uncomfortably warm and then, just before the heat grew hot enough to cause injury, the binocs shut down.    
  
Huntress set them down to cool off and stepped back from the roof ledge with an angry shake of her head.  That building had been one of the last places Canary had visited the day she vanished and Huntress had been hoping for a lucky break.  But this investigation was turning up just as fruitless as all the others.    
  
She brought out the communicator from her belt and hit the transmit button.  "Oracle this is Huntress; this building looks to be empty from the outside.  I'm going to head in and take a closer look but I'm not expecting to find anything.  We're going to have to keep searching somewhere else."  She waited a moment for a reply.  "Oracle are you there?"  Her communicator was silent.  She went back and scooped up the binocs and looked at the small screen on top.  At the sight of a blinking icon, she dropped the binoculars and grabbed her hand crossbow.  She crouched down, instinctively preparing for a blow, and scanning for a threat. There was nothing dangerous she could see in the night-time darkness.  The icon on the binoculars meant the connection to the Justice League's satellite network had been lost.  As far as Huntress knew that was impossible.  She'd seen the binocs keep a perfect connection even with dozens of feet of dirt, concrete and metal piping covering them.  The same thing was true with her communicator, also issued by the Justice League.  The only possible explanation for both devices to stop functioning at the same time was jamming.   
   
Somebody was hunting her.  
  
Huntress felt a stab of fear shoot down her spine as her heart began to pump and adrenaline boosted through her body.  She mentally kicked herself for doing this search alone.  She should have known better!  After looking for any signs of an ambush for a few more seconds she turned and prepared to leap off the edge of the roof and lower herself to her motorcycle using her grapple gun.  A shimmer in the air was glimpsed out the corner of her eye as she moved.  Suddenly, shockingly, a figure appeared out of thin air in front of her, blocking her path off the roof.  She raised her crossbow and fired it center-mass at the new target while sliding to a halt.    
  
The crossbow bolt was stopped an inch from the figure by a shimmering field and the bolt fell to the roof with a _tink_.  Huntress turned and ran.  She'd gotten a look at the figure, a hulking person, six feet tall and broad-shouldered, wearing some kind of white-colored armor from head to toe.  She dropped the useless crossbow as she ran, arms pumping, looking for an escape route.  She grabbed her metal staff in her right hand, alert for another ambusher to appear.    
  
Another shimmer in the air warned her of the appearance of another attacker in front of her.  She had just enough time to grab her staff in both hands, spin, and smash it into the attacker's head with all her strength.  The same shimmering field stopped her attack cold, an inch from the attacker's helmet.  Huntress screamed as an electric shock ran down her staff into her hands.  Her hands spasmed and the staff fell.  She faltered and fell to her knees, her numbed hands, fingers half curled, held to her chest.  She scrambled to her feet and staggered away, desperately looking for an escape.    
  
She glanced back and the attacker she had hit was standing in the same spot, unmoving.  Huntress had no time to ponder what this meant, as a third armor-clad figure had appeared in her path.  The attacker was too close for her to dodge.  She gathered her strength and brought her leg up in a roundhouse kick, leg extended and toes pointed straight, again aiming for the head.  
  
The same damn force-field stopped her attack again.  But this time, the shock buzzed it's way through her boots, up her leg and right into her chest.  Huntress fell, not even able to scream as the shock caused all the muscles of her body to spasm uncontrollably.  She lay on the building roof, flat on her back and twitched as the person she had kicked stood unmoving above her.  Huntress mentally prepared herself for an attack.  She was going to find out what had happened to the missing Leaguers the hard way.    
  
Seconds passed, and Huntress slowly regained control of her limbs.  She rolled over and pushed her trembling arms against the roof as she laboriously raised herself up on her knees.  The figure was still standing there, toying with her.  Her attackers knew they had won and were letting her struggle, like cats with a crippled mouse.  She gritted her teeth and rose to her feet, standing on swaying legs as she faced the armored figure closest to her.    
  
"Well?  What now?" Huntress yelled her arms spread wide.  "Are we going to finish this or do you all need to fix your makeup first?"  She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her beg.  Still the figure stood there, silent and unmoving.  She could see the other two attackers, further away, standing mute and motionless, as well.  The first attacker to appear, near the edge of the roof, wasn't even facing in her direction.  With a surge of anger she clenched her still numb hands into fists and moved in to attack.  She'd go down fighting if nothing else.  
  
The figure in front of her pulled a sleek, white-colored energy rifle off their back and pressed the barrel against it's own helmet in one smooth motion.  Huntress staggered to a stop, confused.  The attacker began to tremble, its arm shaking as its finger slowly squeezed the trigger.  The rifle fired with a  muted hiss of energy and a sudden bright light.  The figure dropped to the roof with a thud, limp and motionless.  Muted hisses and thuds announced the deaths of the other two attackers.    
  
Huntress stood, her jaw hanging open, for a few seconds.  She then smiled as a huge wave of relief flooded through her.  Someone from the Justice League must have just saved her ass!  She sat her trembling body down on the roof and was attempting to grab her communicator from her belt, when a shimmer announced the arrival of a fourth attacker.    
  
Unlike the first three, this one had its rifle pointed directly at Huntress.  Huntress stared back, determined not to show fear.  
  
"Are you Helena Bertinelli?" the figure asked, its rifle unwavering from its aim-point at Huntress's face.  Huntress refused to answer.    
  
"Are you Helena Bertinelli?" the figure repeated.  "It's a simple question.  I just have to be sure I have the right person."   
   
"Yes," Huntress answered after a pause.  She figured she had nothing to lose by answering.  This person obviously knew who she was already.    
  
The figure relaxed and let it's rifle barrel drop towards the ground.  "That's good.  I just had to be sure."  The figure removed its helmet and held it pinned against her side under her left arm.  "My name is Omega.  We have to talk." 


	10. Chapter 10 - Revelations Part 2

"I don't trust her," Batman said. He raised a tablet and pressed a button. A holographic image of a young white woman's head, with blonde hair and blue eyes appeared, with the name Rachael Winters superimposed on top. "I don't care what tests have been performed, I don't care what fancy tale she's woven; I'll never trust her. Especially when she decides to defect now, of all times." 

Omega suppressed a sigh as she shifted uncomfortably in her restraints. The incredibly advanced shackles covering her forearms and hands were designed to hold beings strong enough to rend steel and pulverize concrete with their bare hands. Omega was strong for a human, but on her the restraints were an almost ludicrous over-kill. 

After a quick explanation to the relieved Huntress, the Justice League had been summoned and Omega had been taken into custody. A series of sometimes painful and exhaustive interrogations had occurred for hours afterwards, until Omega felt as if every scrap of information inside her brain had been scooped out and recorded. There had also been intense physical examinations, every last inch of her body being searched for some hidden trap or tracking device. Omega now stood in a holding cell in the League's moon-based headquarters, with a group of the League's most powerful members on the other side of the force-field that constituted the door. Batman and Superman stood side-by-side in front, with Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, the Flash, Dr. Fate, and Captain Marvel clustered behind them. The power possessed by the individuals in front of Omega was enough to shatter worlds and destroy entire races, if they acted in unison. Omega let none of the uneasiness she felt show on her face. 

"Everything I've told you is true," Omega told Batman. "If you want to run the tests again, you can. I have nothing to hide."

"If it's all true," Superman interjected, "then that means you're a confessed serial rapist and a sex-slaver." His eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists. "And if that's true, how could you ever expect us to trust you? This is one hell of a Catch-22 you've put yourself in."

Omega suppressed another sigh. This was going about as well as she could have hoped for. She resisted the urge to reach up and scratch her scalp - the shiny metal implements dispersed over her head, looking like chrome teardrops the size of her thumbs, that the Justice League had installed to block her mental powers were itchy - the restraints on her hands would cause painful bruises if she tried. 

"I accept that. I accept whatever judgement you think is appropriate." Omega stood straight, her feet shoulder-width apart and eyes straight ahead; her hands would have been held at parade-rest but for the restraints. "I just ask that you give me the chance to help you rescue everyone held captive at the Sex Arcade. I will help you in any way I can -" she paused looking Batman's paranoid gaze. "I will help in any way you will let me," she finished. 

"Never," Batman said, in a voice barely above a whisper. He slapped a hand on the wall. "NEVER. We were watching you!" His finger stabbed out, pointing at Omega's face. "You and your band of merry sex-slavers. We were going to follow you when you took Huntress and find out where the hell you people have been operating from, but all of a sudden you decide to defect. You knew you were trapped, didn't you?" His hand clenched into a fist. "You knew we had you and you killed your own team-mates to save your own hide. And now you spin this story about wanting to help us?" His words now dripped with disgust as he slammed his fist into the wall. "Admit it! You're lying! Tell me now, dammit, before I have to wring it out of you-"

"Bruce," Superman said as he placed his hand on Batman's shoulder.

"Superman, have you lost your mind? You're using our secret identities in front of h-"

"Bruce. Please. We've performed every conceivable test. She's telling the truth. And she already knows who we are - all of us."

"She could be tricking us! Her masters could have brain-washed her or used some kind of spell and sent her here as a mole. She might not even know herself she's a double-agent."

"If that is true, Batman," Dr. Fate said, his Middle Eastern accented voice echoing hollowly inside his metal mask, "then we have no hope of beating her organization. If they can defeat all of the techniques we used to probe her then they must possess a god-like power. And if that is the case, why would they bother with sending their agents in secret to our world to abduct their prey? They would simply do what they wanted openly and brazenly, with no need for subterfuge."

The tests Omega had undergone had included psychic probings by the Martian Manhunter, magical scrying from Dr. Fate, scanning from a Green Lantern ring, blood and DNA tests, and other, even more invasive techniques. Omega's mind and body had been turned inside out, her entire soul laid bare for the League to examine. She had offered no resistance to any of it. She'd known what was in store for her the moment she'd decided to betray the Sex Arcade - the League had to trust her if they had any chance of taking down her former employer.

"I am telling the truth," Omega told Batman, again. "You can re-run the tests if you feel you have to, but time is running short if I'm going to have any hope of helping you. We have to act now."

"Batman," Martian Manhunter said, his voice deep and rumbling. "I trust that Omega is telling us the truth." He turned his red eyes on her face, anger evident in the narrow set of his eyes. "Even if I do not like the person who gave us this information." His face relaxed. "But she is right; we have to make a decision on what we are going to do and act now. We do not have much more time before Omega's employers will grow suspicious about her team's absence." 

"Tell us why," Batman said. "Explain to us, in your words, why you're betraying your employers, your team-mates and admitting to us the horrible crimes you've committed." He held up the tablet with the picture of Rachael Winters on it. "And tell us how you went from this," he pointed at the picture, "to that." He ended by pointing at Omega. 

"I was born here, on this world, in Star City, twenty-seven years ago."

"We know that, Rachael," Superman said. "We ran your DNA through our computers and we got a match." He took the tablet from Batman and brought up a picture of the double helix of a human's DNA code. "But only a partial match." A small fraction of the green double helix was highlighted in red. "Someone else's DNA was grafted onto your own at some time in the six years since your last DNA sample was taken. I assume it was your employers that did this?"

"It was, sir. I was recruited right out of college. I was offered a check just to go to an interview and take the aptitude tests the Arcade uses to choose their LDE members. They told me nothing about who they were; but I was desperate for a job so I took the tests. They promised me there would be a lucrative job available if I passed their test, which I suppose was true, but they never explained what the job would be."

"Obviously, I passed. After that were the medical tests, checking for any illnesses or handicaps." Omega relaxed her posture and looked away for a moment. "Looking back . . . I don't know why I didn't ask more questions. Was I greedy? Were they already influencing me?" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"The tests showed I was compatible and they gave me a job contract. I signed on the dotted line and gave my soul away with hardly a second thought. Then there were months of surgeries as they enhanced my DNA, which is how I went from a 5' 2" 105lbs blond to a 5' 11" 200lbs brunette. My strength is lot higher than a normal human of my size and weight, and my stamina is even better than an Olympic athlete. I've run two minute miles. My eyesight is phenomenal and my reflexes are on par with a mongoose. And that's not even taking into account my equipment-

"Yes, we know all about your equipment," Batman interjected. "We've disassembled it and examined every piece. What we need to know now is if all of your team-mates are psychic?"

"No, they're not. There are only ten psychic LDE team-members in total. For some reason, very, very few people are compatible with the DNA they use to make people psychic. And only the psychics and the upper management knows that the psychics are created just like the other LDE members. Everyone else thinks the Arcade just recruits natural-born psychics."

"How many psychic are on the other squad you saw this morning?"

Another four-woman LDE squad had been at the building used to insert teams into this dimension when Omega had arrived there almost twenty-four hours ago. They had headed out on a mission to capture Holly Robinson. Holly wasn't expected to be a popular Subject herself; the Arcade was planning on using her to control Catwoman's behavior.

"Just one. That's standard for a four member squad."

Batman walked away without saying another word.

"Why did you betray your organization?" Superman asked. He turned off the tablet showing the DNA helix.

Omega took a breath. "When I was in college, I was completely straight. Straight as an arrow. I kissed a girl once and it was as erotic as kissing an elbow. And now I'm as bent as a fucking horseshoe. I haven't fucked a guy since I started working for the Arcade. Which was six years ago, something that would have seemed laughable to me in college."

"Are you mocking us, woman?" Dr. Fate asked. The echo caused by his mask made his words even more ominous.

"No, I'm not. What I'm getting at is that the Arcade changed me, not just physically, but mentally. It re-wired the way I think. I realized this one day, like an epiphany. It wasn't long after when I realized my entire way of thinking, my morals, the way I determine good from bad, must have been completely switched around. The Arcade let me . . . use one of the Subjects as my own personal slave after we captured Wonder Woman. She was mine for a month after that. A girl named Zelda." Omega paused a moment. "I kept her chained to the foot of my bed like she was a dog." Her voice had grown faint and she looked away from the men listening. "It was horrible what I did to her. And I liked doing it, so, so, much. I looked at myself in the mirror and I realized the girl I had been in college would have been horrified at the kind of woman I am today." She looked up and met Superman's gaze, her voice now firm once again. "That's why I betrayed my comrades. To pay them back for what they did to me and all of the horrible suffering they have inflicted on so many innocent people."

Superman turned around and looked at the assembled Leaguers. "Do we trust her?"

Hal Jordan the Green Lantern spoke up. "Let's adjourn to another room to discuss this." The group left without another word.

"I'll just stay right here," Omega mumbled as she took a seat inside her cell. Her scalp still itched. 

Time passed and Omega grew more worried. What if they didn't believe her? After everything she had confessed to, they might just kill her for revenge. Or keep her imprisoned in their watchtower for the rest of her life. They would have ample justification to do either of those things. Omega was surprised that she was more worried that the Arcade might survive her betrayal than what her ultimate fate would be. 

Finally, the Justice League members returned, including Batman.

"We have your friends," Batman said.

"My friends? If you mean my squad then they all dead. I killed them."

"No, the other LDE squad. We captured them shortly after you turned yourself in."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"We wanted to see if your story matched what we found out from the other squad."

With a click the restraints on Omega's arms released. They fell to the floor with a metallic clunk.

Omega rubbed her hands and forearms as she spoke. "I take it you trust me now?"

"Never," Batman said. He typed a code into a panel on the wall and the force-field to Omega's cell flickered off. "But, for now, we're going to work together. You're going to help us find the Arcade."

"I don't know the co-ordinates to the facility. Nobody but the gate operators know that."

Batman smiled. "We have a plan. You're going back to the Arcade."


	11. Revelations Part 3

Special thanks to hdctbpal for his advice in writing this chapter.

The Past

The machinery around the raised circular platform that formed the center of the Mass Quantic Gate hummed and ticked as a charge built up. A team was returning from a mission, sent away into another dimension by the exotic technologies of the Gate, sent with the intent of snatching some unfortunate soul back to a place that many of them would consider their own personal Hell. 

The hum inside the room started at a deep bass rumble and rose in pitch and volume, building to a crescendo that ended with a flash of light and a crackling like muted thunder. Where there had been empty space on the platform there were now five separate figures. Four of them wore the expensive and advanced power-armor given to the Sex Arcade's LDE teams, tasked with the job of acquiring new Subjects for the Arcade's entertainment. The fifth figure's voluptuous form lay unconscious on the platform, her wrists and ankles shackled together behind her back. 

The noise inside the room fell still, the machinery quieting down with a ticking sound like tiny raindrops falling on a tin roof, and the figures on the platform began to move. Two of them grabbed the unconscious woman and carried her to a stretcher that was wheeled into the room by a pair of female orderlies. 

"Subject 75 acquired and ready for processing," one of the white-armored LDE members said, her suit's speakers turning her voice into something robotic and less than human. The figure slowly clenched and unclenched her fist, then extended her arm as a hiss of pain escaped her helmet. "The Amazonian almost broke my arm." She glanced at Wonder Woman's body as she was wheeled out of the room to be processed and prepared for her first day of use by the Arcade's clientele. "I think I'll pay her a visit after I get cleaned up. After she's had some time to get settled into her new job." Her fist clenched tight. "Have some private girl talk one-on-one." 

"I told you she was faking, Delta."

Delta turned to look at the other LDE member that had spoken, until their helmets were pointing at each other, an invisible tension flowing through the space separating them. 

"I'm going to see if she's faking it tonight, Omega. And how the hell does our psychic not know if the target is unconscious or not?"

"It's not like checking a fucking light bulb. Even when you're unconscious your brain still has some activity. And she's not actually human, either. I haven't run into too many Amazons before today. Do you know what the psyche of an Amazon feels like, Delta? It's weird." 

A third member of the LDE team stepped between the feuding women before the argument could grow any further. This member of the squad was a little shorter and smaller than Delta and Omega, and had a cracked helmet and chestplate with fist-shaped indentations marring it.  
"Girls please -," the figure stopped when she realized her suit was not transmitting her voice like normal. She twisted the collar of her helmet and removed it, revealing the olive skin and eyes denoting a Vietnamese heritage. "Everybody relax and chill out. We got our target and we made it back in one piece. Why don't we all celebrate with some alone time with Wonder Woman later on? It'll be a girl's night out." 

"I'm not sharing, Zeta. I got the worst of it so I get first call. You know the rules."

A voice spoke over an intercom in the Gate room. "Ladies, you've all done good work today. Get cleaned up and Management will have special bonuses for you when you're ready." The LDE squad recognized the voice as the head operator that ran the MQG. He - one of the few men that worked inside the Arcade facilities - was entrusted with knowledge no-one else in the Arcade was given; the spatial coordinates used to send and receive matter from different dimensions. 

Delta and Omega locked gazes again, a staredown that lingered for a few more seconds. With a sniff that was transmitted through her suit, Delta turned and headed for the armory area. The rest of the LDE team followed her a safe distance behind. 

Specially trained technicians helped the women remove their power-armor and it was then carted away for repairs and a thorough cleaning. The LDE teams were trained in how to maintain their own armor during long-term missions, but once back at base the complex equipment was always given a complete overhaul to keep it in top-running condition. 

It was thirty minutes later when Omega was standing in front of her locker, admiring the muscles rippling along her arm in the mirror inside. It was the thing she loved the most about the changes the Arcade had wrought inside her body; the feeling of sheer strength and power her new, muscular body gave her. She flexed her arm and smiled at the way her bicep bulged. Omega had been a fitness fanatic before being genetically engineered, but now her exercise routine let her pack on muscle that would have been impossible before. 

She eyes moved down and considered the rest of her body. Her breasts were covered under a white sports bra, large and round enough to distract most men from her broad, muscular shoulders. Her abs were two vertical lines nicely shown off by her flat stomach. She was wearing white high-cut panties, accentuating her buttocks and thick thigh muscles. Her calves were also densely packed with muscle fiber, enough, Omega thought, that high heels would make her legs look killer - if she cared about that kind of thing. 

Omega kept her body in top shape, but spent little effort on the rest of her appearance. Her brunette hair, which had been blonde before her transformation, was kept buzzed short to keep it easy to maintain on a mission. She almost never wore makeup, except when the various women she hooked up with at the Arcade could convince her to wear some on special occasions.  
One of those hookups was watching Omega right now. Omega's telepathy could sense the woman sneaking up behind her, but she made sure to act surprised when warm, small hands covered her eyes and a sultry voice tickled her ear by saying "Guess who?"

"Um . . . Santa?"

"Is that some kind of fat joke?"

Omega spun around and grabbed the small woman behind her around the waist, turned and pressed her against the locker. She leaned her right forearm against the locker above the woman's head and smothered her mouth with a kiss, while her left hand squeezed her buttocks through the woman's gray yoga pants. 

"No, Mindy, it means you're always the one they send to tell me I have a present waiting for me." She went back in for another kiss. 

Mindy gave a small gasp when Omega's mouth moved away. "You must have been lonely out there, big girl." She ran her hand Omega's short-cut hair, her finger tracing along the rim of an ear. "Everyone knows the kind of fun you LDE gals get into out there," Mindy said with a coy smile. She brushed her nose on Omega's and gave a small peck on the lips. "Just a nonstop orgy, the whole time ya'll are away. And don't tell me you don't try the Subject out for yourselves before heading back."

Omega grabbed both of Mindy's slender wrists in a firm grip with her right hand and pinned them against the locker above her head. "First of all, the other girls in the squad are totally not my type. Secondly, the Subject we had this time was too dangerous to screw around with. There was no play-time on this mission." She gripped the back of Mindy's neck and gently kneaded the warm flesh under her hand. "I've got plenty of time, now, though." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, big girl," Mindy said with a pout. "I've got to work an extra shift tonight. One of the Subjects had a bad attitude all week so she's pulling extra hours in the Fuck Machine after her regular day is done." She gave a little squirm under Omega's grip. "But I promise to see you tomorrow. Ok?" She gave Omega a quick kiss and then bit her own lip while looking Omega in the eyes. "You're going to have to let me go, sweety." She pushed her chest forward until it was rubbing against Omega's.

Omega stepped back and let go of Mindy's wrists. "What was the gift you were talking about?"  
"Oh, you are going to just die when you see her. She is the cutest little thing you've ever seen. I picked her out for you myself." Her voice dropped low. "I know what what you like, sweetie, and she's all blonde and blue-eyed like an Aryan princess. She's waiting for you in your room right now."

"One of these days, I'm going to come back from a mission, enter my room and it'll be you chained to my bed, Mindy."

Mindy dropped her flirty look. "That's not very funny, Omega."

Omega's laugh was sharp and short. "I think it's hilarious. Now," she turned Mindy to the side and gave her a solid slap on the ass, "get along and show me a little wiggle when you walk away, little girl." Mindy walked away and gave her a lot of wiggle. 

Omega threw on a t-shirt and sweatpants, leaving the skin-tight black bodysuit she had worn into the locker room - worn by all LDE members under their armor - hanging on a hook outside the locker door. Someone would come by and collect it for cleaning sometime later. 

A short walk later and Omega placed her palm on the bio-reader outside the door to her apartment. The reader glowed red for a second, scanning her fingerprints, palmprints, and taking tiny DNA samples to compare to what was in the Arcade's database. Only Omega and the employees she gave permission to enter could open the door. Mindy was one of the employees Omega had given permission to, which is how she had delivered her 'gift' earlier. 

The door slid silently to the side and Omega stepped inside, the lights to the small living room automatically powering on. To her right was a kitchen where she often made meals, straight ahead was a bathroom and to her left was the door to her bedroom. She could see light spilling out from under that door and her enhanced hearing could hear very faint whimpering and sobbing and the clanking of chains coming from her bedroom. 

Omega resisted the urge to rush inside to see her gift, deliberately taking the time to sit down on the couch, pull out a tablet and check her e-mail. She wanted to savor the anticipation of not knowing who was waiting for her - and judging by the crying she could hear, she wanted to maximize the dread her gift was feeling before their first meeting. 

She quickly scanned through the junk in her inbox, deleting most of it. Putting her tablet down she closed her eyes and concentrated, tapping into the psychic powers that had been granted to her by the Sex Arcade's genetic engineering. Her awareness of the room fell away and she reached out to gently touch the mind waiting in her bedroom. She had to be careful; she only wanted to scan her gift's emotional state and not her memories, which would reveal her identity and spoil the surprise. 

The girl looked like a bright burst of emotion, just on the other side of the wall behind her. She unconsciously smiled as she sorted through the complex melange, savoring each individual emotion and it's unique 'flavor,' searching for the one emotion she had learned to enjoy above all others. She could sense fear, deep and pervasive. Mindy must have been telling stories about Omega for the girl to be so scared. There was also a sense of frustration and anger, a feeling that the current circumstances were deeply unfair and undeserved.   
No-one really deserved to be a Subject of the Sex Arcade, of course; but this girl's sense of the unfairness of it was far more specific than most. Some type of religious belief? Omega looked forward to finding out. And then, below all the other emotions, was the black despair she had been looking for. It was a small seed, currently, deep inside the girl's mind. Not yet the black shroud that would smother all of her thoughts and feelings. Omega gave a small sigh of content as she savored the heavy, bitter taste. 

Despair was an acquired taste, like a fine scotch or a dry chardonnay. You had to 'sip' the emotion in small amounts at first to get used to the bitterness. Too much and it could consume you, dragging you down into it's dark embrace, wrapping you in the darkness of the person you were scanning. She'd had that happen to her on two occasions; the first time it had only taken several minutes for the effects to wear off. The second time, Omega had become so entangled with a Subject's feelings of hopelessness and despair, she'd been put on suicide watch inside the Medbay for an entire evening. 

During her years at the Arcade, Omega had learned to recognize several different 'flavors' of despair in the Subjects. Some of the more hard-core defiant women, usually from a military or warrior background, would fight with all their willpower when they first arrived. Their resistance could last from months to years, until they hit a wall and their spirit crumbled. Every act of defiance would be met with punishment. Cursing at the clients meant they would be gagged their whole shift. Attempts at escape meant shifts would be spent strapped down to specially designed tables and chairs, where every muscle would be unable to move, their bodies still open for the clients to rape. Rudeness towards the workers of the Arcade would invite physical punishments, like whippings, paddlings, and the withdrawal of food and sleep. 

Those Subjects would fight until they couldn't fight anymore and then simply give up. Omega had touched the minds of some Subjects like this who were so broken, so smothered by despair, they were more like Golems than humans; their only motivating spirit being the avoidance of pain. She'd been on missions to return women like that back to their home dimensions and she frankly wasn't sure if letting them go alive was a mercy or not. 

Then there was despair like she felt budding in the mind of her gift, chained to her bed and forced to fearfully wait for her new owner to enter the door. Subjects like her were usually very young, right at the 18 year old age limit the Arcade had for its new acquisitions. They usually came from backgrounds of leisure, born into rich families or even aristocracies, never having to work hard or worry about where their next meal would come from. Some of them came from worlds where violence of any kind was almost unknown, especially the type of brutality the Arcade specialized in. They were shocked by what happened to them their first day, their minds barely able to comprehend why people enjoyed the activities they were engaged in. Some of them never recovered and spent the rest of their time at the Arcade in a semi-comatose state, barely talking or displaying emotion. Others, like her gift, were tough enough to survive the initial shock, but the reality of their situation would slowly but surely grind them down.   
That's what Omega felt happening, deep inside the poor girl's mind. She'd have to be careful with her gift. If she pushed too hard, too fast, the despair would become overwhelming and she would break her gift before she had time to truly enjoy it. Deciding she had delayed it long enough, Omega entered the bedroom.

There was a dim red glow in the room when she entered, coming from a new lamp in the corner. There were rose petals spread across the floor and soft music was playing as she stopped at the foot of her bed. Mindy must have done all this when she dropped off the gift. 

"And what do we have here?"

A young girl, about twenty Omega guessed, with blonde hair braided into a single pigtail, pointed elven ears, blue eyes and pale skin was lying curled into a ball on a pile of pillows that had been placed on the floor. There was a shiny chrome collar locked to her neck and a thick chain led from a loop on the collar to another metal ring on her bed, where it was secured by another padlock. She was small, several inches shorter than Omega and probably a little over half her weight, with small breasts. Her body type was very similar to Mindy's.

"Oh, you are the cutest little thing, aren't you?" Omega cooed at the girl, as she bent down, her hands resting on her knees. "Sit up so I can get a good look at you."

The girl looked up at her face flinching away from her, tears running down her face, but she slowly uncurled and kneeled in front of Omega. Without prompting she bent down, kissed both of Omega's feet and said, "How can I serve you, Mistress?" She then knelt forward and placed her forehead on the ground. 

Omega reached down and gently took the girl's face face with both hands. "Mindy taught you to do that, didn't she?" she said while moving the girl to a kneeling position. The girl's face was now a foot from hers and she smiled at the terror she saw etched there. 

"Yes, Mistress." The girl grabbed Omega's wrists for a second, hesitantly, then hurriedly snatched them away, unsure of what to do with her hands. 

"What's your name, little pet?"

"Zelda, Mistress."

"Do you know why you're here? In my room, I mean. Not the Arcade." Omega gave a small chuckle. "I know why you're in the Arcade."

"Mindy said I was a . . . gift to you for a mission you had performed, Mistress."

Omega stroked Zelda's hair. "That's right. I brought back another Subject like you for the Arcade to have fun with, so Management decided to give me a little bonus. You're going to be living here, with me, for the next month. Then it's back to your booth and making the clients happy again." She gently pinched Zelda's chin. "Are you going to make me happy like you make the clients happy, little pet?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"That's good, little pet. I see you've already got a nice bed made out for you and everything. You'll be sleeping there like an itty bitty kitten, curled up at the foot of my bed. I had a cat when I was in college, you know, a rescue cat that was terrified of me at first -" A memory burst into Omega's mind; the black rescue cat had huddled under her bed, tail curled around itself that first night. Nothing she did could move it, until it was driven out from under her bed by sheer hunger. She remembered how happy she'd been the first time the cat had let her pet him and she had a sudden, irrational urge to hold Zelda and tell her everything would be all right, the same way she'd held the cat.

She shook her head. Where the hell did that come from?

"Where was I? Ahh, yes, I was about to give you your initiation, pet. It's something I like to do with all of the gifts the Arcade gives me. Something to set off our relationship on the right path, to give a little contrast between the pain at the start and the pleasure that will follow."

Zelda somehow looked even more terrified and despairing. "Please, Mistress . . . I haven't done anything wrong."

Omega gave a single barking laugh. "I know you haven't. This isn't punishment, pet. It's just a bit of fun. But, you seem even more scared than most of my gifts. Has Mindy been telling you stories about me?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Oh, you poor thing." Omega pulled Zelda close with an arm around her waist and ran her fingers through Zelda's golden hair. She put her lips next to Zelda's ear and whispered, "You know what, pet? All of those stories are true." Omega gently kissed Zelda on the lips. "Give me your wrists." 

Omega secured Zelda's wrists with a pair of black handcuffs and then unlocked her collar from the bed. She then locked Zelda's handcuffs with another set of handcuffs to a D-ring installed high up on the wall of the bedroom. She had Zelda turn until she faced the wall, then put an arm around her waist and made her stick her ass out. She went to her closet and came back with a black leather paddle with the word 'SLAVE' stitched onto both sides in red.   
"I'm going to give you ten whacks with my paddle, pet. After each whack I want you to count the number and say 'Thank you Mistress, may I please have another.' Do you understand?"

"Please, please don't do thi-"

"Now, now. That's not going to do any good, pet." Omega grabbed Zelda's hair and pulled her head back. "Answer my question or I'll add more whacks to our playtime."

Zelda squeezed her eyes shut. "Yes, Mistress." Her head hung defeated when Omega released her hair. 

The first blow landed with a solid thwack and a gasp from Zelda.

"One, thank you Mistress, may I please have another?"

THWACK There was an audible scream this time.

"Two, thank you Mistress, may I please have another?"

Thwackthwack

"Three an . . . three thank you Mistress, may I please have another? Four, thank you Mistress, may I please have another?"

"Oh, very well done, pet. All of my other gifts got that wrong the first time. You must have played this game before." 

thwackthwackthwackthwackTHWACKTHWACK

Zelda sobbed and tried to speak. Her ass was now bright red and throbbing with pain. 

Omega held her in a gentle hug. "You don't have to say the whole thing, pet. Just tell me how many whacks was that?"

"Ten, Mistress?"

"Was it? You don't sound so sure. I guess we have to start over."

"Please, no more-

Omega chuckled. "It's all right. Mistress is just playing a little joke on you. You'll find out I have quite the sense of humor, pet. Now why don't we get some ice for that cute little ass of yours, hmm?" She gave Zelda's bruised bottom a final smack with her hand, smiling at the scream it elicited. 

She had Zelda sit down on the bed on a cold pack she brought from a freezer in the kitchen. She sat down next to Zelda, close enough for their thighs to touch. She began to gently knead Zelda's shoulders. "There, that feels nice doesn't it? When your bottom feels better I think it's time to give you a shower, pet. Would you like that?"

Zelda looked away. "I would, Mistress."

"Look at me when you're talking."

She turned and met Omega's face, their noses almost close enough to touch. "Yes, Mistress."

Omega drank in her fear, trying to imagine all the things she was going to do to Zelda over the next month. Inexplicably, the only thing she could picture was holding the poor girl and trying to comfort her . . . just like the rescue cat from college. Her hands fell from Zelda's shoulders and she shook her head. Where were these thoughts coming from? 

Omega led Zelda into the bathroom and chained her hands to the ceiling in the shower, then proceeded to give her a long, soapy rub-down over her entire body. Omega moved slowly, taking her time, making sure to touch every part of Zelda’s body, except for her bruised ass. She used her psychic ability to tweak the pleasure center of Zelda's brain and Zelda began to respond to her probing hands, pressing into them unconsciously and moaning, despite the pain and discomfort she was still feeling. Omega kept bringing Zelda right to the brink of orgasm, then tamping it back down over and over again, until Zelda was literally crying in frustration and begging for release. 

When Omega finally granted it, Zelda's intense orgasm caused her to faint; something Omega found incredibly amusing. She'd quickly finished the shower and dried her unconscious pet, then carried her to the little pile of pillows that would serve as Zelda's bed. She attached her collar to the bed with a small chain with a simple clip at the end - Omega had learned that locking the collar to the bed meant you either had to wake up every time your pet needed to pee or you had a mess to clean up afterwards. She’d had other ‘pets’ relieve themselves in a litter box specially made for them - they were pets after all - but Omega wasn’t feeling in the mood for that kind of treatment anymore. 

Omega lay awake that night tossing and turning, unable to sleep. She couldn't help thinking about the kind of person she'd been in college and the kind of person she was now. She'd been working for the Arcade for years now and Zelda was far from the first 'gift' she'd terrified, but for some reason she was inspiring feelings of guilt in her. Why Zelda and why now? Was some kind of mental conditioning beginning to slip? Were her psychic powers growing stronger than the Arcade's ability to influence her mind?

Omega didn't know. But she did know, beyond any doubt, that what she was doing was wrong. 

So what the fuck was she going to do about it?


	12. Fatal Encounter

The Martian Manhunter concentrated, his hands resting on the head of the former Subject of the Sex Arcade standing in front of him.  The physical world faded away and his mental sight took over as he carefully searched the woman's mind for the mental blocks that kept her from using her magical powers.  He caught glimpses of memories; brief and vivid flashes of events that had taken place in her past. Over here was an argument with her father about how late she could stay out. Over there were beating strobe lights and fog as she danced, a teenager just out of high school, with an older man she met that night; both of them moving in tune to the pounding music inside the club.  She gave a sly smile as she draped her arms around the man’s neck and kissed him, her tongue sneaking inside his mouth. Her Dad would be furious if he knew about this . . .

Here was her capture as she left that same club and then her first day of 'service' inside the Sex Arcade.  A smirking hostess with red hair and freckles, as seen through blurry and tear-filled eyes, was buckling a leather covered metal ring inside the Subject's mouth. 

"Don't worry now, luv.  That ring is to protect you as much as it is to protect the clients." 

"No it isn't," another hostess said. 

The first hostess laughed.  "Well, we gotta tell the poor dear something.  It's going to be a long and grueling day for her."  The hostess laughed again as the first client stepped up, an erection making a visible bulge in his pants. He roughly grabbed the Subject’s hair, painfully jerking her mouth towards him as he unbuckled his belt.

The Manhunter grimaced and pressed ahead.  Where was the block . . . there. He saw it ahead, his mind presenting it as a brick wall that stretched across his path from horizon to horizon and up into the sky, past the limits of his vision.  He probed the wall looking for a weak spot, the mental projection of his body pressing its hands against the wall. It stood firm against him as he searched and felt for a crack, a missing brick, anything he could exploit.  Nothing. He would have to do this the hard way.

The psychic who created the block had been thorough, well-trained and powerful.  There were no weaknesses the Manhunter could find. His only option now was to bull his way through with brute force.  He drew his arm back and punched into the wall, a shuddering boom unleashed at impact. He threw another titanic blow, then another.  The wall stood firm. Yes, the psychic had indeed been very strong. Not surprising considering what they had learned about Omega's DNA.  He drew back his mental fist and concentrated focusing his mental energies on the ‘wall’ in front of him. He held it, building his power, held it, held it . . . then snapped forward with a mental scream of effort pounding his fist into the mind block.  His fist glowed with a bright energy in his mental sight, (an image he must have picked up watching some cartoon show with the Flash) an energy that unleashed the moment he made contact with the wall. A hole was punched through, debris knocked loose and disintegrating as it flew backwards.  The rest of the wall held fast for a brief moment and then it crumbled into dust and was blown away by an imaginary wind.

The Manhunter focused again and drew his mental sight back into his own body.  He staggered as the sight of the woman in front of him re-appeared, his body weak from the energy he had just expended. 

“Is it done?”  Wonder Woman asked, standing next to the woman whose mind had just been freed of the psychic block.  She had her arm around her and helped the woman stand against the sudden disorientation brought on by the Manhunter’s efforts.   In Wonder Woman’s other hand she held an MP-5 she had taken from an armory in the facility, magazine pouches stuffed full and hanging from the tactical gear she had donned. 

“Yes, it is done.  Her powers have been restored to her,” the Manhunter said. “How long did it take?”

“You two were standing there for almost twenty minutes.”

The Martian let out a frustrated sigh.  “That is too long for me to free everyone here.  Hers was relatively simple; other blocks will be more complicated and take more time.  Freeing everyone’s minds will have to wait until we get back to our world. I’m sorry, Diana.”

“You’re doing everything you can, J’onn.  Don’t apologize.”

The Manhunter and Wonder Woman stood in a dining room that had been used to feed the Subjects the mushy, nutrient laden goo that was all they were allowed to eat during a work day.  The goo was designed to fulfill all of the dietary needs of the Subjects while being as residue-free as possible. All of the women rescued from the facility had been gathered here to wait until it was time to transport them somewhere safe. 

Those women now sat at the the tables quietly talking or drinking from plastic cups as Diana helped the woman she was supporting to a seat.  They had dressed in sweatpants and t-shirts that had been found in a storage closet nearby. The dining room itself was stark and unforgiving with grey concrete floors and walls.  Bright lights buzzed overhead, protected by thick security glass. The doors to the room were thick grey metal and could be magnetically locked from the security control room in the facility.  They stood propped open now. The tables were plain metal and bolted to the concrete floor, the seats simple stools with no backrests attached directly to the tables by thick metal extensions. Large rings were crudely welded to the edges of the tables, one ring in front of each stool.  J’onn touched one wondering about its purpose.

“They chained our collars to those,” one of the rescued women said.  She was tall with blond hair and had introduced herself as Samus when the Manhunter had talked to her earlier.  Like all the Subjects she was very attractive, but that attractiveness had been dulled by the strain of captivity.  There were bruise marks circling her neck from the collar she had been freed of less than an hour ago and she looked exhausted with dark bags under her eyes.   “They marched us in here, leashed like animals and chained us down like dogs. You couldn’t talk . . .” she trailed off for a moment, overcome with emotion. “If you talked you didn’t eat.  You couldn’t even look at another woman too long.”

“I tried to stop.”

The group at the table looked at the speaker with mild surprise.  She hadn’t spoken a word since the rescue had started. A light probe on her mind brought the name Korra to Manhunter’s thoughts.  Korra was solidly built with muscular arms, brown skin and dark hair. She had a faint and far away look on her face, her eyes glassy.  “I tried not to eat. They waited two days then belted me to a table and shoved a tube in my nose to pump food in my stomach. I still wouldn’t eat.” She brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.  “Then they did something bad to my girlfriend. They kept playing a video of it in my room. I didn’t even know she was in this place till I saw that horrible video. For days they played it . . . days and days and days.  Even if I closed my eyes I could still hear her screaming.” Korra looked down. “Why would they make me watch it for so long? I ate everything they gave me after that.”

The Manhunter could see the strain captivity had taken in all the women in the blank stares and hollow looks he saw around him.  He clenched his fists as a wave of anger at the people responsible hit him, at the minds that could build an enterprise built on the suffering of innocent people.  He turned away so the women wouldn’t see his face until he gained control of his anger. It was difficult to do.

He turned back.  “You are all safe now.  We are going to be moving you out of here in a moment so please be prepared.  Diana, make sure the women are ready to go at a moment’s notice. I will return shortly.”

He nodded to Captain Marvel who was standing watch over the dining room as he walked out. He then headed to the conference room just across the hall that had been turned into a medical center for the wounded, both friendly and enemy.  Mercifully, there had been no serious casualties among the Subjects during the rescue. Any injured were being cared for by the facility’s own medical people, assisted and watched over by Green Lantern.

“Are the wounded ready to go?”

“We’re as ready as we’re going to be, but Jubilee is still in bad shape.  Moving her is going to be dangerous,” Green Lantern answered.

The girl in question lay motionless on a stretcher surrounded by monitoring equipment with pads stuck to her chest and tubes inserted into the veins of her arms.  A nurse from the Arcade hovered near the bed constantly checking the readings on the equipment. Jubilee’s left arm ended in a crudely stitched stump, the hand gone just above the wrist.  Flash had found the surgeon responsible for amputating Jubilee’s hand, his blood pooling on the ground and the pistol he’d shot himself with lying on the floor next to his body.

“They stitched her hand onto some other poor woman,” Lantern said.  He looked down at Jubilee with a mixture of sadness, pity and a smoldering anger.  “That other woman died. They were going to cut off Jubilee’s right hand off and try again.  They had it scheduled for today.”

Manhunter angrily pointed to the ugly stitches on Jubilee’s left hand and glared at the nurse.  “What could you possibly hope to accomplish with this insane _butchery_ ?” 

The nurse cringed away, her hand nervously raised in front of her.  “Please, sir. Please. I didn’t have any part with planning this. I just did what they told me, I swear.  I didn’t have a choice.” She would have run but there was nowhere she could go.

“You knew what they were planning?  What possible sense could there be in cutting a girl’s hand off and sewing it on someone else’s arm?  What were you trying to accomplish?”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

Manhunter grabbed the nurse by both arms and met her terrified gaze with his own glowing red eyes.  His mind opened and he sent his vision inside the nurse’s memories looking for a sign, a hint, anything - any logical reason there could be for what they had done to the girl hovering on the edge of death right next to him.  The nurse stiffened in his grasp, rigid and moaning, unable to move as his mind gripped hers. It didn’t take long. The plan for Jubilee was hovering right at the top of the nurse’s consciousness. The Manhunter sighed and let the nurse go, both physically and mentally.  She gave a loud moan and tumbled to the floor, unconscious.

Green Lantern used his ring to check on the nurse and asked, “What did you do, J’onn?” 

“They were trying to create their own meta-humans.  I saw it in her mind. Jubilee could summon some type of energy from her han-”  Manhunter stopped.

“And they thought grafting her hands on someone else would transfer that power?”  Green Lantern asked. That’s . . . I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it.  It’s madness. Pure madness. They’d have to be idiots to expect that to work!”

“They didn’t expect it to work.  They knew Jubilee and the other women were going to die.  They did it anyways. I saw it in the nurse’s mind. They no longer had any use for them.  Jubilee wasn’t _profitable_ anymore.”  Manhunter rested his hand on Jubilee’s forehead for a moment.  “Make sure everyone is ready to move,” he said to Green Lantern then turned away.  As he was about to leave he saw two women in the corner he recognized.

“Raven!  And Starfire!  It is good to see you.  We are almost ready to get you out of here.  It will be wonderful to have you back home.”

Starfire lay on a stretcher, looking thin and emaciated.  There was no sign she had heard the Manhunter talking. Raven hovered over her with a worried look on her face, slowly stroking Starfire’s hair. 

“J’onn,” Raven said.  She paused a moment. “Have the other Subje- the other women said anything about me?”

“I have heard nothing.  Why do you ask?”

Raven paused again.  “I had to do things . . . to survive here, J’onn.  Terrible things. To the other Subjects. Starfire was hurting and the only way I could help her was by playing their sick games.”  Her head fell forward and as she began to silently cry. “I don’t know if I deserve to be rescued.”

The Manhunter placed his hand on Raven’s shoulder.  “You do deserve to be rescued, Raven. What went on here wasn’t your fault.  Whatever happened between you and the other women no longer matters. All that matters is that you’re going to be home soon.  Make sure Starfire is ready to go when we give the signal.” He gently squeezed Raven’s shoulder then left the makeshift clinic.

He quickly walked back across the hallway and stood next to Captain Marvel, then sent a message out with his telepathy.

_‘Superman, can you hear me? Is the portal room secure and operational?’_

_‘J’onn, we’re almost ready here.  The machine is intact and we’ve restored power.  Batman and Cyborg are running a test on it now to make sure they have all the controls figured out.’_

_‘That’s good news, Superman.  We will begin moving the survivors down there immediately.’_

Superman had been part of the team that had teleported into the Arcade’s secure facility, posing as the missing LDE squad.  Aquaman, Batman and Cyborg had accompanied him. They had quickly secured the room, disabling the security systems with an EMP device strapped to Superman’s armor.  The info they had gleaned from Omega and the captured LDE squad meant they knew the Gate machine was shielded from the energy of the EMP device. Superman and Aquaman had bashed their way through the massive metal door sealing the room and disabled the security teams sent to stop them while Batman and Cyborg hacked the control systems and learned how to operate the Gate machine.

The Justice Leaguers had teleported to this world months ago and spent the intervening time preparing for their assault on the Arcade.  They had been forced to use a special magical spell concocted by Dr. Fate to travel between dimensions to avoid detection by the Arcade.  That meant their trip was strictly one way and without the Arcade’s Gate they would be stuck on this world until they figured out how to build some new method of transporting themselves back home.  Given the technology level of this planet, that was a task that would likely be impossible.

The women they had rescued would all have to be moved to the Justice League’s home until it could be determined where they had all come from.  They had planned on leaving them with the US government on this world but they had no safe way of transporting them overseas. An aircraft had flown over the facility just an hour ago, low and fast, its engine exhaust making the walls and floors shake.  The Flash and Captain Marvel had done a quick reconnaissance outside the facility and reported a unit from the Russian military was on their way. The timetable for action was growing short and the potential dangers grew greater every minute. Did the Russian government know what had been happening here?  Were the soldiers on their way to destroy the buildings and kill everyone in them to keep the secret from leaking? The group of heroes could handle the small unit being sent, but what would the long-term consequences be? Would the Russian government panic and launch a nuclear attack on their own territory?  Would they blame the US? The heroes couldn’t allow themselves to be the cause of a worldwide war. They had to be gone before the Russians got here.

**_‘Ho, Ho, Ho, Green Giant.’_ **

The Manhunter glanced at Captain Marvel.  “Was that you?” The hero stared straight ahead and said nothing.

“Captain?”  Captain Marvel stood still and remained quiet.  The Manhunter waved his hand in front of Marvel’s eyes but there was no response.  He felt a queasy sense of unease curl through his stomach. “Billy? Are you alright?  Did you just say something?” Captain Marvel suddenly tumbled to the ground and lay still. 

**_‘Thank you for not damaging the Gate.’_ **

There was a sudden, tremendous pressure on Manhunter’s mind, a brutal psychic assault that felt both icy cold and fiery hot at the same time.  He screamed as he spun around looking for the voice he had just heard. He saw . . . something standing in front of him before falling to his knees and clutching his head as he screamed again from the continuing assault.  The intruder was trying to pry its way inside his mind and learn his secrets with incredible force but he concentrated all his efforts and stamina on keeping the creature out. The assault continued for what seemed like hours but was only seconds of real-time.  Finally, the pressure on his mind relented fractionally, with all but his surface thoughts safe from the intruder. For now.

**_‘Keep your secrets, Green Giant.  I’ll just strip whatever information I need from your companions when I’m done with you.’_ **

Manhunter looked up from where he kneeled on the floor and saw his bizarre attacker standing in front of him.  It was human-like in profile standing at least seven feet tall, with two arms, two legs and a human-shaped head on top.  But the proportions were all _wrong._  The legs were far too long as well as the arms, while the torso was too short in comparison.  The head was completely white and smooth, hairless with no eye sockets or ears visible. Two little slits stood in for what would be a nose on a normal face and the mouth . . . he shuddered when the creature opened the thin V-shaped lines it had for a mouth and exposed it’s many needle tipped fangs.  To top off the absurdity the creature wore a black business suit, with a dark red tie, specially tailored to match its frame.

‘ **_You don’t look very pretty to me either, Green Giant.’_ **

“Who . . . who are-”

 **_‘I am one of the Sex Arcade’s Founders.  Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You wouldn’t happen to have seen my fellow Founder anywhere around here would you?  He’s a tall fellow, about yay high,’_ ** the creature held its hand up just above its head, **_‘with white skin.  Probably wearing a business suit that looks just like mine. I’ve been looking all over for him.  I woke up this morning and it seemed my partner had vanished without explanation or leaving a trace behind.  I was ever so worried for him. And the next thing you know you fellows show up. A remarkable, even astonishing, coincidence don’t you think?’_ **

“We . . . we don’t have . . . anythin-”

**_‘Anything to do with that monster, yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before, across countless dimensions and worlds.  You’re a paragon of justice, decency and everything righteous while I am but a humble libertine demon sent to tempt Mankind with Sin.  But you’ve truly seen nothing of my partner?’_ **

The Martian Manhunter grimaced and with a massive mental ‘push’ he was able to momentarily break free of the creature’s hold.  He staggered to his feet, swinging his fist at the grinning, red-gummed, fang-filled smile in front of him with all his incredible strength.  The creature didn’t move as it saw certain death approaching . . . only for that mighty green fist to be stopped cold several feet from his face.  Its grin grew even wider.

The Manhunter heard his fist connect with something metallic with a loud _crack_ that echoed through the building.  At the same time a weird shimmer appeared in front of him, that instantly resolved itself into an LDE squad member.  Or something like an LDE squad member; the Manhunter could see the resemblance in the white power armor the figure wore but the creature beneath it was clearly not human.  It had two backward-jointed legs and four sets of arms that ended in three-fingered hands. The figure was almost twice as broad as the Manhunter but it only came up to his chest and the view-plate indicating a ‘face’ was located between the top pair of shoulders.  There was no head.

All of these observations passed through the Manhunter’s mind in a split-second as he stood with his right fist held immobile in the bodyguard creature’s top left hand.  He tried to turn his body immaterial, and was shocked to find he couldn’t. The Founder had done something to his mind that blocked some of his abilities. He could only hope the block was temporary.  His shock was wiped away as the bodyguard slammed his unoccupied three fists into his body with a series of thuds, almost like a drum being hit. The Manhunter felt bones crack and tried to shift his body to something with more durable bones, but found that ability blocked as well.

The bodyguard squeezed the Manhunter’s left hand and screams and crackling filled the air.  The Manhunter fell to his knees and punched out with his right hand in desperation. His hand hit a crackling energy shield and the Manhunter screamed again.  He tried sending out pulses of energy from his mind; it failed. His last ditch effort was sending a telepathic warning to his teammates:

_‘Superman!  I need help at the dining room! Quickly!  Superman, are you there? Flash? Green Lantern?  Can anyone hear me? Anyone at all? HELP ME!’_

**_‘That won’t work either, Green Giant.  No one can hear you. Now, let’s have a conversation like civilized beings.  Heel, Nimrod!’_ **

The bodyguard creature, Nimrod, let go of the Manhunter’s hand, stepped back and disappeared with a shimmer of the air. 

**_‘Where were we?  I was asking if you had seen my partner, I believe?  Yes? Any sign of him, Green Giant?’_ **

The Manhunter cradled his broken hand to his chest where he kneeled on the floor and remained silent.  The Founder creature had started its mental assault again, but it was more desultory this time. The Manhunter was beaten and the Founder could take its time peeling open the minds of the people inside the cafe when it was done with the Martian. 

**_‘I could have my Nimrod and Borea flay the skin from every woman in that room behind you.  You’d be amazed at how precise they are. The victim can live a shockingly long time during the process.  It’s truly a remarkable thing to see. Well? . . .saying nothing then, are you? Then on your head be it.  Nimrod! Skin five of the women in that roo-’_ **

“No!  We have not seen him.  No sign of him anywhere!”

 **_‘I thought not.’_ ** The Founder creature gave an exaggerated sigh.   **_‘I suppose I will settle accounts with him when I find whatever rat-hole he’s scurried off to.  Now, onto more immediate business. How exactly were you and your compatriots able to find this little establishment of mine?  There are an infinite number of dimensions accessible to the Quantic Gate. How were you able to backtrack us to this location?’_ **

J’onn J’onnz clamped down on his thoughts as the Founder tried once again to burrow inside his mind.  The pain of his broken bones sapped the martian’s strength but he was still able to keep the foul creature out of all but his surface thoughts.  Despite his efforts, a symbol floated up to the top of his mind, unbidden and impossible to stop. It looked like an upside-down U with the bottom edges curled inwards towards each other. 

**_‘What is that symbol?  I recognize that . . . its from some primitive alphabet from this planet.  Omega . . . that’s the symbol for Omega . . . The psychic? SHE’S THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS!?  That mission from six months ago . . . I wanted to terminate her but my partner said no. I’m going to kill her.  I’m going to find her and kill her. Yes. I’ll stomp on her head, I’ll break her bones, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .’_ **

With a sudden tearing noise the Founder’s body began to twist and deform, its clothes shredding. 

**_‘I’ll mash her_ **

**_Break her_ **

**_Stomp her_ **

**_Kill her_ **

**_EAT HER’_ **

That last was shouted both mentally and verbally as the Founder’s transformation completed.  The human-shape was gone, replaced by a grey-skinned monstrosity. It had two arms on its left side and three on the right, the head had sunk into the chest area and there were several more mouths scattered around the creature’s body, each mouth speaking slightly out of sync with each other.  A stench of brimstone and sulphur was strong in the air around the creature.

‘ **_The time for chatting is over, Green Giant.  I’ll be sure to say hello to one of your counterparts in another dimension.  Nimrod! Kill the Green Giant. Borea! Kill everyone in the room behind hi-’_ **

“Dnim sih ezeefr!” 

The Founder’s shout was cut off by the sudden transformation of the ‘face’ on his chest into a solid block of ice.  The Manhunter turned just in time to see Zatanna - the woman whose mind he had freed earlier - collapse from exhaustion in the doorway to the cafeteria.   Wonder Woman stepped up right behind her, aiming her MP-5. A tiny _click_ was heard as she flipped the selector switch to full-auto and she let loose a long burst of fire at the creature’s frozen chest.  It shattered into hundreds of tinkling, crystal-like pieces that rattled all over the floor. The Founder’s stood unmoving and ramrod straight for a moment, as if the creature’s body needed time to catch up with events.  Then an ear-splitting shriek rent the air, a sound like a buzz-saw cutting into sheet metal at a pitch almost too high to be heard, lasting just a few seconds.

The Founder’s body toppled backwards like a felled tree, slamming into the floor with a _crunch_ of ice breaking. The Manhunter felt the a rush as his powers returned to him.  He sprang to his feet as a shimmer in front of him announced the re-emergence of the Founder’s bodyguard, Nimrod. The fight for the Arcade was back on. 


End file.
